#the fanfic I fell on that was line this had all these teams in it that's what I'm tagging them

[littlefankingdom]

I am really envious of the confidence some people have.

What do you mean "I have never read or consume any Batman or DC media, I just read some fanfics. Here is mine ♡" ? How???

Meanwhile, I'm so stressed about making any mistakes that I always queue my posts, I delete any post I made a single mistake in, I'm going through pages and pages of fandom wiki for my fics, I looked up every map of Gotham that was ever made to determine if some place was from walking distance from the other, I have yet to finish or publish any fic because what if there's something wrong and I'm just too ignorant to see it. I cannot make a single mistake or I will combust.

It's not fair, how do some people get "you will not give a shit at all, no shame" and I get "you care so much it is killing you". Why was it not mixed and shared between all of us so we all get a healthy amount of fuck to give???

[adoristsposts]

all the seasons | quinn hughes

author's note; guys i fear i may be coming back with my first non-song-inspired quinn hughes fanfic... and it's loooong. anything can be a oneshot if you post it all at once, right? summary; when stumbling upon quinn hughes seems to become a year-round habit, it's hard to deny that maybe fate might be pushing the two of you together. word count; 4.7k warnings; a little bit of purple prose probably idk i've been writing this on and off. swearing + mentions of drinking

winter

There is a large chance, you realise, that Quinn Hughes will not like you as much as your best friend has been assuring you. Cole, of course, is beaming at you like he knows some shit is going to go down. The idiot. It had taken a lot of groveling for him to convince you to come - and a lot of whining about how all the other 'old farts' on the team would bore him to death with hockey talk and flaunt their hot girlfriends, making him miss his hot girlfriend who had flown home for Christmas. All of it had ended in the promise that you would get to talk puck with your favourite players and he would buy all your drinks at the bar the eldest Hughes brother had rented out. You had agreed reluctantly. Cole was hard to say no to. After you had spilled hot chocolate all over him his first year in Vancouver and begged him to send you the dry cleaning bill, you had become a bit of a lifeline to the boy. You became someone whose apartment he stayed in whenever he was called up to the Canucks, and someone to drive the long commute to his weekend games. The two of you had become inseparable. Well, separable only by the distance between Vancouver and Abbotsford that you refused to cross on workdays. Recently called up, and staying in the guest room next to yours, Cole had been invited to the Canucks' Christmas party. A party "usually organized by Millsy's wife, but she's like, sick or something" Cole had explained to you. Therefore the responsibility fell on Quinn Hughes. "What are you all stressed about?" Cole asked, looking up from his phone and settling his gaze on you. You had been lost in your thoughts, listening to the hum of the Uber's engine and the quiet radio the driver was playing. "Dude," You breathed out, "I'm going to puke." "You are not" He said, well aware of your dramatics, "going to puke. You will be fine, they'll love you." "In ten minutes I have to talk to the Vancouver Canucks. The captain of the Vancouver Canucks. I deal with enough talking to you." You hissed out, glancing at the Uber. Was this information safe to share? Should you be worried he was going to dox the Christmas party address? Oh, God save us all. Happy birthday, Jesus. Thanks a lot. Cole laughed at you "Would you chill out? I keep telling you Quinn will love you." "I'm chilling out, I promise," You breathed, "Just thinking about all those drinks you're going to buy me." "Alright, alright."

Ten minutes later the two of you were clambering out of the Uber. "Do I look okay?" You asked him, adjusting your dress. He just shrugged and let out a grunt that almost sounded like an 'I don't know.' You rolled your eyes at him but followed him as he led you towards an eerily quiet bar. It was obvious it had been booked for a private event, but the missing element of drunk people lining the streets outside of it made the whole thing feel a little out of place. A pub for Christmas? Cole opened the door for you, allowing you to step inside first and take the place in. Whoever Quinn had hired had done a great job - red tinsel was strewn about just about anywhere it could go. Christmas decorations lined the bar, as well as a handful of Menorahs and other Hannukah decorations. The whole place was alive already. You and Cole were fashionably late, you presumed. "Let's say hi to Quinn" Cole said, pressing a hand against your upper back to help lead you towards the Captain. You wouldn't have needed the help. For God knows whatever reason, Quinn basically shone in gold to you. His face was flushed and his hair slightly sweaty from the pure heat radiating throughout the place. There was a lopsided grin on his face as he smiled at whatever joke the man across from him was telling. The bar lights, slightly tinged red, fell over him like water that cascaded down his strong nose, off his shoulders, and over his body. It was a pull you had never felt before, one that made you forget about the fact Cole was literally pushing you towards the man. Quinn's gaze slid away from his conversation and across the room, obviously taking note of if everything was running well. For a moment it scanned over you before coming back. And for a second, it was like everything in the world fell into place. Almost as if he felt it too, his lips parted and his eyebrows furrowed. Or, perhaps, you realized, he was wondering 'Who the fuck is this girl at my party?' "Quinn!" Cole greeted happily, darting out from behind you and giving the man a hug. Over Cole's shoulder, Quinn held you in a quizzical stare. When he pulled away, he asked, "Who are you?" Cole laughed awkwardly at the blunt question. "This is my friend I was telling you about. The one from Vancouver?" Quinn's face showed no sign of recognising or remembering any mention of a 'friend from Vancouver.' Instead he just stared. It was stranger, probably, that you just stared back. "Okay..." Cole said, glancing between the two of you. "I'm going to go get a drink. You want anything?" "Whatever you think I'd like." You said, finally breaking your gaze to give Cole an appreciative smile. He gave you an odd look and then backed away before fully turning around and heading towards the bar. Just you and Quinn now. "Sorry, I didn't catch your name." Quinn said. His face still held a look of perplexity. He looked so intently at you that you felt like he was trying to figure out if he recognised you from somewhere. You gave it to him, lips curling up as he nodded at the information like it was some interesting fact. "I'm Quinn. I mean- Cole just said it but.. I'm Quinn." You laughed. It really wasn't that funny, but it bubbled out of you before you could stop it. "Hi Quinn."

A few drinks later and you and the captain of the Vancouver Canucks that you were so anxious to meet had been glued at the hip for hours, talking about anything and everything you two could think of. You had wandered out to the outdoor seating of the bar. It was entirely empty, thanks to the freezing conditions of a Vancouver winter that everyone inside was trying to escape from. But you had discovered throughout the night that the heat in your cheeks seemed forever present around Quinn, and the cold air was like a soothing kiss. "Are you cold?" He asked you. "No, are you?" You asked back, eyeing his red nose and bouncing leg. He smiled and shook his head. It was quiet out here. Conversation in the bar had gotten difficult the rowdier everyone had gotten. Cole had long left you two, pouty that you wouldn't save him from awkward conversations he couldn't relate to about marriage and kids with the older guys. Quinn's hand on the railing brushed against yours. "Listen, I don't really know how to approach the topic, but do you think I could get your-" "There you are!" If you could pick a time and place for a person to drop dead, you would pick right here, right now, and Cole McWard. "I've been looking for you everywhere. I am desperate to go home- No offense Quinn, the party's great." "Okay, okay," You said, "Right now?" "The Uber's outside. I've been frantically searching for you ever since I realized you and Huggy here had left your little corner." Shit. Okay. You turned to Quinn. Even at the sight of him, a stupid grin broke out on your face. There was something romantic about him that you couldn't quite place, like it was written all over his face that he should be the star in some cheesy movie about loving and loving hard. "See you around?" You said. "See you around."

"Did you get his number?" Cole asked in the Uber. "No," You sighed, "And fuck. 'Cause he's hot." "If it's meant to be, it'll be." He shrugged.

spring

April hit like a drug. After a few weeks of pining over Quinn Hughes (who had chased Cole down to ask if you were single and then gone radio silent), and then a few hours of remembering you were single and didn't have to care, the first few months of the year had flown by. Work had been hectic, and you loved it. You navigated the isles of the florist's shop, on call with Cole through your headphones. You made a beeline to the lilies, choosing the pink ones and complaining to Cole about some client of yours that had been beyond difficult. "Seems to me like you need to lock Hughesy down and retire so you take all this over-achiever energy and put into being the captain's wife." Cole snorted. You rolled your eyes even though he couldn't see you, "I told you, I'm over that." "You were like, in love with the man." "And he did nothing about it!" You exclaimed, walking up to the cashier and paying for them. You mouthed a quiet thank you and moved on. "He literally always asks me about you." "Yeah, on the rare occasion you get called up. I think that's just called small talk." You huffed. Cole sighed, "Listen, just... I don't know. You guys seemed good together. It'll happen." And then he ruined the moment by quoting Surf's Up "I can feel it in my nuggets." You snorted at him. "Whatever, it's whatever. I've got to get home, I'll call you later, okay?" "Okay, bye." He hung up quickly. No drawn out goodbyes for you two. With a start, you realized you had forgotten to ask him if he had remembered to set aside a ticket for you for his game Saturday. You quickly pulled up your messages, typing out the question for him. About to hit send you- A grunt and the feeling of the hard pavement on your ass stopped you before you could. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry, that's totally my fault and- Quinn?" You were surprised by the blue eyes that stared at you as you pick yourself up. He opened his mouth, then shut it again, then open, then shut, like a fish. You furrowed your eyebrows at him. "Are you alright?" He stuttered to life, like a machine rebooting. "Yes! Um, yeah, I'm all good. I haven't seen you since..." "Since the Christmas party." You finished for him. You wanted to press your lips into a thin line, tell him to have a good life, and move on. God, you wanted to. But something about Quinn made your brain muddled. You smiled at him. He smiled back. "Want to grab a coffee? I can buy you some flowers to make up for the ones I just crushed." True to his observations, the lilies you had just bought were bent out of shape from hitting the floor with you. "Yeah. That would be nice."

Quinn Hughes, you were beginning to realise, was easy to stare at. It was like every part of his face was designed with some gravitational pull that just beckoned you closer and closer until you were entirely enamoured with the way his mouth curled as he talked. You didn't realise the conversation went quiet until it did, too busy staring to clock that he had finished talking. He cleared his throat and you broke out of your trance. "Sorry." You said. "Listen.." Quinn trailed off. You were a little afraid he was going to call you out and tell you that you were making him uncomfortable. "That night. The Christmas party- God, I hope I don't come on too strong here but.. We were good, right? There was some crazy, cosmic connection. Please tell me I didn't make that up." It was like the air had been sucked out of the room and forced into your lungs. You wanted to call all your friends who had told you that 'delusional doesn't get anyone anywhere' and tell them that he had felt it too. The feeling that before you locked eyes the world hadn't moved, hadn't been set in motion until you knew the feeling of his gaze on you and yours on him. You wanted to cry out, 'Yes, you idiot', but instead you settled for a smile and "I felt it, trust me." "I was going to ask for your number, but Cole interrupted and I felt like maybe it was a sign that I wasn't ready for you yet. Like maybe the universe was telling me to wait for you. God I sound like such an idiot. And if I freak you out and you turn me down just know I will still replace those flowers," He was talking slowly, sure of himself, "But I would really like your number now. If you and the Universe want me to. Have your number, that is." You placed a hand over his, hoping that the sign of interest would get him to stop rambling. "Firstly, my lilies better be replaced. And secondly, you could've had my number at the party, universe be damned, but I'm just as happy to give it to you now"

summer

There was nothing that compared to the absolute defeat reflected in Quinn's face as he wrung his hands sitting on the couch. An injury for earlier in the season had flared up again, leaving him scratched from the second round of the playoffs- a round that the Canucks were struggling in without their Captain. It stressed you out to see him so stressed out. And you honestly had no clue what you were supposed to do. Since exchanging numbers, the two of you had done just about everything other than put a label on what you were. It was terrifying and exhilarating and you didn't know if you should turn the television off or not to spare Quinn from what was beginning to turn into a nasty loss. It killed him to not be able to fly out for the away game, to not be able to be there for his team. Having him play through his injury had left him sidelined for weeks, and not allowing that injury to fully heal before he picked up his stick again had bothered him until finally the medical team had to force him to rest. Even now you knew he'd be laced up and on the ice in seconds if he could be. "You alright?" You asked him, "Need any ice or heat or anything?" Your apartment had become his over the past few months. His gear had a permanent spot in your coat closet and his Yankees cap hung up next to your Abbotsford one. And now everything Quinn-care was stored around the place. He grunted in response, eyes still glued to the screen. "Quinn." "Jesus, what?" He snapped. At least he broke his gaze from the TV. Immediately, he softened. "Sorry. I'm alright, thank you. I'm sorry." You moved from your station behind the kitchen counter and sat next to him on the couch. "I know it sucks." You told him. "It's one more week. I want you healed, Quinn. You gotta help me here." "I know, I know." He pressed his lips into a thin smile, grabbing your hand and turning back to the game. He stroked circles onto the back of your hand. Even with the ups and downs of the game, they never lost their rhythm.

You fell asleep listening to the hum of the commentators and the sounds of skates and sticks on the ice. When you woke up, Quinn was texting furiously, the pads of his thumbs beating on his phone in an almost soothing dance. "Everything alright?" He didn't turn. "Yeah, babe." "How was the game?" "They lost. Sorry- give me a second, I'm texting the groupchat." You hummed in response, not bothering to talk. He was lost to the hockey he was replaying in his mind. Over and over on a loop until he felt he had identified what went wrong and how he could fix it. You unfurled yourself from your place amongst the pillows and rose, your bones cracking and groaning in pleasure from getting out of the position. You padded to the windows, closing them. They had been open to release some of the heat in your apartment, but now all you wanted to do was sleep without worrying about pesky insects getting in. When you turned back to the couch Quinn was still typing. "I'm going to bed, you coming?" You asked him. He turned and gave you his big stupid grin that hung lopsidedly on his face. "In a minute. Don't wait up, okay? I know you have work tomorrow." "'kay" You wandered into your bedroom, slipping yourself into your sheets. Over the past few months of seeing each other it had become near impossible for you to sleep without the white noise of Quinn's quiet snores next to you. Roadies were beginning to genuinely impact your functionality at work, with the lack of sleep and following overconsumption of caffeine messing with you. Quinn was the complete opposite of everything you had searched for. Being best friends with Cole, you knew what dating a hockey player was like. And you had been adamant you didn't want anything like it. His schedule made everything about dating difficult- not to mention the added privacy that was required in his situation. On top of it, he was entirely enamoured with hockey. When you caught him zoning out during movies or taking a little too long to reply in conversation, you knew he was just dreaming of it in the same way he had his whole life. It was what made him so undeniably talented on the ice. And as a fan of the sport yourself, you understood. And God help you, you forgave. Because you wanted nothing other than him. The boy had tainted you completely. If you ever had to date again, if the two of you never did label anything and just fizzled out, he would have ruined you for anyone else. There was no one else with his passion and dedication. His ability to take charge and make the best of difficult situations. And no one who made you feel so whole. He was far from what you were looking for, but he was what you needed. A man. One that was still texting his groupchat as you drifted closer to sleep without the heat of his body next to you. But twenty or so minutes later you felt the brush of a kiss at your temple and the familiar dip of the bed as Quinn slipped into his side. And you fully fell asleep to the smell of his cologne and the feeling of his chest against your back.

fall

"You're going to be my wife." Quinn cooed. You turned around from your seat in front of your vanity, narrowing your eyes at him. "Quinn, what?" You were shocked at the statement. Also shocked at the fact that you didn't quite hate the idea. The two of you had become official a month or so back, and the four weeks had felt exactly like the four weeks before it: calm and blissful. He was smirking at you from the bed. You studied his face. You had never been more obsessed with someone's face. You could probably close your eyes and still accurately point to where his beauty mark was, you were so obsessed. There was something so romantic about him. It opened a pit in your stomach and swallowed you whole. You were like a teenage girl with a crush. Quite literally weak in the knees at your big-girl age of 23. "You're going to be my wife." He repeated, rising from where he sat on the edge of your bed. You turned back to your vanity, allowing him to plant both hands on the back of your chair and lock eyes with you in the mirror. "My wife." He said. Third times the charm, you suppose, as the reality of how insane he sounded hit you. "Your wife?" You almost snorted, "Is this a proposal after one month, Hughes? You know you're yet to even meet my parents." "I've met them!" He defended, "Over the phone- that is so not the point." You rolled your eyes at him. "It's also not a proposal. I just know." At your unimpressed look, he said "The universe, baby." "Sure, Hughesy. Are you ready to go?" You and Quinn were heading out to your last dinner of the pre-season. Getting ramped back up had been difficult with off-season trades and signings and finding the chemistry in a practically new team had taken it's toll on Quinn. But the pressure would be tenfold once the season started. The players and fans were ravenous for a cup. Years of hard work were starting to pay off with better records and longer playoff runs, and you knew that when Quinn closed his eyes at night he was dreaming of that pretty piece of metal. One that, you had admitted to him while drawing patterns on his chest, you had always wanted to be able to kiss like all your hockey idols before you. "I'll get it for you" He had said like it was a shiny piece of jewelry. "You better" You had replied, sealing the promise with a kiss. "Yeah, I'm all ready, pretty lady."

winter

"Happy three years" Quinn smiled, tucking your hair behind your ear. You laughed at him, "What are you talking about? Put your shoes on." The two of you were on your way to the Canuck's annual Christmas party. This was your first year sharing the responsibility with JT Miller's wife. You still weren't quite ready to fully take on the role. Although the woman insisted you would have been fine on your own and seemed a little eager to officially pass the mantle of party-planner onto you. Quinn was still staring at you. "The uber is here, you goof" You tugged him by his shirt out of the door. "We're going to be late." "Happy three year," He repeated. "What? Our anniversary is in September" "We met three years ago. Happy three years, my love." You stopped in your tracks. "Oh my god, Quinn, I'm so sorry - I didn't even realise." He smiled at you. Three years in and that look still made you melt. His hair was freshly washed, and the wet strands fell across his forehead like they were styled to look perfectly messy. His ever-scruffy facial hair seemed custom made to frame his perfect smile. "If you don't stop looking at me like that, we're going to miss the Uber and the party. That I planned" You put an emphasis on the last part like it would deter him at all. You had left a couple 'you' planned parties because he wouldn't stop looking at you a certain way. Being in love had never been so entirely overwhelming for you before. You could remember when you met him like it was yesterday. The electricity that charged between you two. The feeling that your heart was trying to claw itself out of your body so it could get to his. It was nothing you had felt before and something you had felt every day since. He grabbed your waist with one of his hands. One of the many things Quinn brought up when he raved about fate and the universe was the fact that he claimed you fit perfectly in the palm of his hand. That it was his "God-given spot." The sap. You felt the same, secretly. "Happy three years," He said, still giving you that fucking smile. You tilted your head to look up at him. Lifting to your toes so you could reach him comfortably, you pressed your lips against his. He parted his lips quickly, a hand making it's way to your chin to angle you into the perfect position. The kiss got passionate fast, and your hands explored his chest, smoothing over his pecs. One wandered over his shoulder, pulling him into you, while the other grabbed a fistful of the flannel he had thrown on over his long-sleeve.

The buzzing of your phone interrupted you. He tried to chase your lips with his as you pulled away, but you gave him a playfully stern look and he gave up. "The uber is literally texting me, Quinn, we have to go." "I have the flu." "You do not." "I'm very truthfully ill. I don't think I should risk giving it to my teammates and their girlfriends. I think we should stay home." You quirked an eyebrow, "We? I can go without you." "If I'm sick, so are you." "You are not sick, Quinn." "Oh I am. Outrageously so. The Scarlett Fever, I think." "Quinn," You laughed. "The Bubonic Plague." "Come on." "Marry me." "We're- What?" Quinn hadn't faltered at all. "Let's miss the Uber. Marry me." "Quinn, what? Are you still joking?" His face paled a little at the question, "Why? Do you not want to?" You swatted his shoulder, "Obviously I want to. This is so not a funny joke." He looked into the hallway past you, like he was scanning for an aggravated Uber driver coming in to drag his customers into his car. "Wait here." You opened your mouth to protest that you really truly were going to be late now, but he was already thundering back towards your apartment. He rushed in, the door not even having enough time to click behind him before he raced back out. In his hand was a black velvet box. "I was waiting for a good opportunity. I thought maybe when I got you that Stanley Cup. Or at the lake, but I couldn't wait that long." "Quinn" You breathed out. "I love you. So much. And I know I've said a million times that I'm going to marry you, but this time I'm asking for real. Marry me? We can have a big wedding with everyone from the team and a crazy venue and my mom can fuss over your bridesmaids so you don't have to and Cole can even be your Man of Honour. Or we can have a tiny, courthouse wedding with just you and me- and maybe Jack and Luke. I don't care. Just marry me?" You had expected, your whole life, that the world would spin on its axel the day you got engaged. You had thought profusely about this exact moment, and how everything would change, and wondered if your husband-to-be would pick the perfect ring. But you didn't even care if Quinn ever opened the box. If it was the ugliest thing you'd ever seen in your life. And it didn't feel like the air had left your lungs, and it didn't feel like everything was changing. It felt like everything was slotting in where it was supposed to be - and this was your place. Maybe not in your dingy apartment that you loved too much to move out of for your boyfriend Quinn (a problem that would not arise for your fiancee Quinn, you realised as you began to dream of a gorgeous house and a few little Hughes running around that most certainly would not fit in your one-bedroom one-bathroom) but your place with him, however you could have him. You couldn't even get the words out, opting instead for a tearful nod. Quinn surged to you, wrapping his arms around you. Overcome with emotions, you practically collapsed. Quinn helped you lower yourself to the floor. You grabbed for him, taking a fistful of his shirt and using it to pull his lips to yours. "I love you," You murmured against them, "And we are totally missing this party." He laughed in response, pulling away and pressing his forehead to yours. "Absolutely. Now get this ring on and let's get off this gross floor, yeah?" Your face hurt from smiling, but your grin somehow got even wider. "Yeah."

[kisses4reid]

big change | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,,

summary - cutting spencer’s hair results in more than just a ‘big change’ appearance wise.

genre - fluff!!!!! cutesy yearning

warnings - idk u scared of haircuts?? scissors??? kissing?? (barely edited btw)

a/n - sometimes i black out and write a fanfic and then find it later on and then i’m like shit this kinda fire and then i edit it and then i post it and then-

You roll your chair over to Spencer’s desk after much staring, and rest an elbow on a low stack of manila folders. Your sneakers squeak as you slow yourself, causing a visible flinch from the long haired boy.

His brunet hair was flicked up at the ends which touched his shoulders, the front pieces tucked behind his ears. As he lifted his gaze, hard expression softening immediately, you whispered, “I know your secret.”

His smile jolted, heart beat quickening. You had a cheeky smile on, hair twirling between your fingers, talking so low. You couldn’t possibly know his secret.

“Oh yeah, what’s that?” He asked, placing his pen down and turning to give you his full attention.

“You don’t know how to cut your hair.” His long hair suited him, you thought he looked as handsome as he did on your first day of work how many years ago. The day Spencer fell in love.

Dumbfounded, Spencer replied with a pout, “I know how to cut my hair.”

You raised an eyebrow, and suddenly he was aware of the jagged lines and length of his hair, and how he was now bringing hair ties with him everywhere. Which was actually convenient for all female members of the team. He had to admit, it was inconvenient at times, and it wasn’t his favourite to deal with or to look at. He looked back into your sparkling expecting eyes, smiled softly, and continued, “You should cut it for me.”

You lifted your head from your palm and raised your eyebrows, a pink flush ghosting your cheeks. The offer was innocent, it was a favour, but something about it felt so domestic in your head that you couldn’t help but smile hard, cheeks pressing, “Yeah, of course.”

You pushed off his desk and returned to yours, though his gaze never left your sunny appearance.

The next day, you were knocking on a familiar apartment door, rocking on your sneaker heels, eyes wandering anywhere but where you thought Spencer would be when he opened the door. But even when he did open his door, after a thud and small ‘ow’, you couldn’t help but look at him and savour the last moments with his long hair.

He had a navy blue sweater over a white t-shirt, some sweatpants that looked more formal from afar, and mis-match socks on. You gulped and stepped into his apartment, taking everything in as if you hadn’t been there before.

You took off your light purple scarf and placed it on the kitchen counter, along side the small hair cutting kit you had gotten a few years ago (you couldn’t afford a hair cut before your first day at the BAU, it was a diy emergency).

The apartment was dark and cosy, cabinets a rich wood tone, countertops squeaky clean, couches plush and thrifted. You two often talked about the best thrift stores to visit, you had even planned to go to one together one day. As Spencer pulled a wooden bar stool into the kitchen to sit on, you tied your own hair up, reminding yourself of why you were here.

He smelt amazing, like a new book and burnt marshmallow, and as he gazed into your eyes waiting for you to speak, a cat caught your tongue. You were alone in this warm apartment, only the soft music of Spencer’s old playlist in the background, and a heart beating that you weren’t sure was yours or his.

“Um- Okay. Do you have a reference photo or?”

“Yeah,” he pulled his phone out of his back pocket and showed you a reference photo. It was like he wanted to be a boy band member, and as you imagined him with it, you couldn’t be happier.

He got nervous watching your reaction, it was a very drastic change. You placed his phone on the counter top next to your hair kit, his eyes following your every move like if he blinked you would dissipate. And when a small smile ghosted your face, he felt a weight being lifted off his shoulders.

"I like it."

"Good."

You leaned close to Spencer, your heat radiating onto him, to pull a lever on his chair to lower him to your eye level. A spray bottle appeared in your hand while the other covered Spencer's brown eyes. Suddenly, cold sprits of water caused Spencer to flinch every time he heard the trigger fire, causing you to giggle lightly. "It's just water." "I didn't get any warning though." He replied sheepishly. He couldn't hear much over his heartbeat, or see much other than you.

The next 15 minutes was spent in radio music and being surrounded by your sweet perfume, trying not to grab you or touch you as much as he wanted to. You were stood in front of him now, eyes focused on his bangs and the hair around his ears, scissors and comb in hand, and he couldn't stop gazing into your eyes like a little boy looking at the stars.

You were utterly gorgeous, beautiful, unreal. Spencer often wondered, especially at the start of your relationship, how nobody else had tried to date you in the team, or in general. But as the two of you grew closer, he realised you were telling everyone no. You were waiting for someone, and it made his heart break everytime he remembered your words.

If only he knew. Your hands jittered slightly, feeling insecure at his hard gaze that you simply couldn't ignore. You hoped in the dim lighting he couldn't see your red cheeks or steep breaths, or that he could. You hoped you never finished cutting his hair, and you thought of other ways you could stay this close. He was tall, warm, comfortable. He was smart, caring, clean. He was Spencer, who wouldn't want to stay with him? A gulp escaped you, and he ripped his eyes off of yours, looking down to avoid your eyes and to see the damage.

There was piles of hair beneath your feet now, and he smiled at the sight.

"Spencer, stop moving your head. I couldv'e cut off your eyebrows." Your laugh filled the apartment, and he looked back up at you.

He hadn't realised how far you had gotten, your eyes scanning his hair for any improvements before a small smile of approval appeared on your cheeks. A breath escaped him. You turned to close your kit. He stood up and placed a hand on the front of your neck, turning your head, and planting his lips on yours.

You squeaked in surprise, quickly kissing back as his hands traveled to your cheeks, holding onto you like you were the only girl in the world. Your fingertips splayed on his chest, you pulled away only to be followed for another kiss, only broken up by a millisecond of a breath.

You opened your eyes and pushed him softly away, noticing the lipstick now stained on his lips and around them. The dim kitchen was spinning, your chest was heaving, and your heart was racing a million beats per minute. You even got a little light-headed before Spencer took his hands from your face and rest them on your waist.

He was much taller now that he wasn't sat, and he looked even more handsome with the haircut you had given him. For a second you thought you were hallucinating. Spencers eyes played between your lips and your eyes, before meeting you in the middle once again. He lifted you slightly, kissing you with movements full of yearning and passion, slowly with multiple breaths in the middle to give you time to reject him (which he expected), but you never did.

You put one hand on his cheek as he pulled away. He smiled widely at you, taking the enthusiasm back as a good sign. He didn't totally fuck up. You whispered, "You kiss your barbers often?" He replied with a cheeky smile, "Only you."

taglist: @jeffswh0re @reap3erslov3 @candyd1es

[halucynator]

False Fronts II

part 2 of 4

pairing: Theodore Nott x fem!reader

warnings: kissing, pda, swearing, fake dating, not proof read (as usual) and my writing

there will probably be a part 3 (if im feeling nice).

summary: Being asked to fake date someone to get a petty ex off their back is the worst possible way of being friend-zoned. You, however, were willing to take any chances to get as close as you could to Theodore Nott.

the lovely lovely dividers have been created by @cafekitsune. here is the post with these exact dividers!

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4: fluff angst

Theodore's departing silhouette dissolved into the Hogwarts corridor, leaving you with conflicting emotions. A grin tugged at your lips—Theo had asked you to team up in this wild charade! But there was also this weird flutter in your stomach. Fake dating Theo? This was something straight out of a fanfic plot. (i wonder why?)

The agreed time rolled around, and you headed to the spot Theodore suggested—a tucked-away alcove away from the Hogwarts chaos. Your heart raced a little faster as you spotted him already waiting, a mix of uncertainty and determination in his expression.

"Hey," you said, aiming for a casual tone despite the bundle of nerves inside.

Theodore turned, a faint smile on his lips as he nodded. "Hey, thanks for showing up."

There was this strange tension between you, the weight of the plan hanging in the air. It was like the beginning of an unknown adventure, the kind that either makes you or breaks you.

Sitting down, you both seemed at a loss for where to start.

"So," you ventured, breaking the silence, "how are we playing this out?"

Theodore leaned in, lowering his voice. "Let's keep it simple. Act like we're together, maybe hold hands when people are around. Just enough to sell it to Jess."

A jolt of nerves mixed with a weird kind of excitement surged within you. Pretending to be Theo's other half felt like stepping into a storybook—exciting but also a tad scary.

"Sure," you said, trying to sound more confident than you felt. "We'll make it work."

Theodore nodded a grateful glint in his eyes. "Thanks, Y/N. I owe you for this."

And so it began. There were these subtle gestures—his hand grazing yours, the occasional kiss on your cheek—but it never ventured beyond that. Just enough to plant a seed of jealousy in Jess.

Yet, it ignited a storm of butterflies within you. You knew it was all a mistake, falling for him in this make-believe charade. You knew it was a terrible idea. You knew it. Yet, each touch, each gentle kiss left you breathless, wanting more.

You reminded yourself it was all a facade, a performance meant to fool others. But for some reason, it felt real. You wished it were genuine. The line between what was fake and what you craved to be real blurred with every tender moment, making you yearn for something that was never meant to be. It all felt real. You wanted it to be real.

The question was, did he?

You knew diving into a conversation about his actual feelings wasn't on the table. He'd made it pretty clear: this was all part of the fake dating deal. Plus, the last thing you wanted was to weird him out by dropping the "Do you like me for real?" bomb.

If he caught wind of you wanting something more than acting, he might bail and rope someone else into this mess, leaving all the effort you'd poured into getting close to Theo in the dust. And you weren't about to let that happen.

Not now. Not ever.

Days turned into weeks, and the fake dating charade continued. You and Theodore fell into a rhythm, a seamless blend of staged affection and genuine camaraderie. It was a delicate dance, playing the part of an infatuated couple while maintaining the facade for Jess's benefit.

But amidst the pretense, something unexpected happened—the lines between what was feigned and what felt real started to blur. The stolen glances, the shared laughs, the moments when the act seemed to dissolve into something unscripted—all of it stirred a confusing mix of emotions within you.

Theodore's touches became less rehearsed, more natural, and each time he'd take your hand or wrap his arm around you, it felt oddly comforting. There was a warmth in his gestures that made them seem genuine.

Thing is, as much as you reminded yourself it was all a big show, there were moments when it felt too genuine, too sincere to be just an act. Those brief touches and the laughter that felt more genuine than staged—it all made you wonder if maybe, just maybe, there was something brewing beyond the act you'd both signed up for.

Theodore escorted you towards your dorm, the air heavy with an unspoken tension that lingered between you two. The quiet stroll through the Hogwarts corridors felt different tonight—moments of comfortable silence interjected by furtive glances and lingering touches.

As the entrance to your dorm loomed closer, you felt the weight of an impending confession pressing against your chest. This might be the moment—the perfect opportunity to spill everything you'd been holding back.

"Theo, I have to tell you something" You blurted out.

"Hm?" He questioned.

"I- I lik-" You began.

"Stop right there bitch. Get the fuck away from MY boyfriend." a voice shouted.

It was Jess.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡*:☆

hello! finished reading this? read part 3 next!

[lovingrosewho]

Framed

Hello there! It’s been a while since I’ve written anything but I recently began watching Criminal Minds again and fell in love with Aaron Hotchner all over again as well, so I just had to write this, I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it :) This is my first Criminal Minds (published) fanfic, and the first Hotch x Reader I’ve written ever! (also the first nsfw)

ONE SHOT (but who knows, it may even have a part 2 on a future maybe not-so-near but not-so-far-away either)

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Cis!fem!reader

Rating: 18+

Word count: 3467

Summary: reader has been accused of murdering her older, rich ex-fiancé (of course I took my inspo for this piece of fanfiction from Brooke Whyndam, of the movie “Legally blonde”, also, the line “then show them a picture of his dick” is from that movie).

Warnings: NSFW content (innuendo, sex, curse words, age gap - reader is in her mid twenties, Hotch is in his early/mid forties)

“I didn’t do it!” you scream one last time slamming your fist on the table, on the edge of tears.

It had passed around 8 hours already with you in custody, accused of the murder of your ex-fiancé, a (quite older) man, CEO of a big company in town, and as if that wasn’t enough, the best friend of the sheriff.

SSA Aaron Hotchner rubs his face, tired, after observing Prentiss and Morgan’s attempts to get you to confess. It’s almost 3am.

“Sheriff, with all due respect, I think she’s telling the truth” he tells him with a soft voice after a deep sigh.

“And with all due respect, you profiled that the suspect would be a female in her mid twenties, who we’d have to get the information out of her”.

“And we also profiled she’d be seeking for attention and validation which we don’t see it happening do we?” Aaron retorts rolling his eyes discreetly.

The sheriff gives SSA Aaron Hotchner one last glance before grabbing the doorknob of the interrogation room and storming in, Hotch follows close behind, seeing how the sheriff turns off the videocamera recording what happens inside the interrogation room, knowing no good can come from asking the same questions over and over again when everybody is also tired and fed up with trying to get a false confession out of you, which, from your behavior, Hotch knows it’s impossible.

“That’s it!” the sheriff yells “You killed my best friend! Either you confess or I’ll let you rot in here the rest of the 72 hours we can have you legally detained!”

“For the last time, I. Didn’t. Do it!” you yell back.

The BAU team exchanges glances between each other.

“What judge is going to believe you huh? You were engaged to a successful man in his mid fifties! And then he goes and marries someone even younger than you!”

“That was over two years ago!” you talk back.

“You had motive and opportunity, no judge nor jury is going to understand any other reason for you to be with him that is not for the money”.

“Then show them a picture of his dick! That might clear a few things up” you finally bark at him. The sheriff looks at you in astonishment. Morgan disguises a snicker as a cough, Prentiss bites down her lower lip to suppress a laugh, and Hotchner… Hotchner just stands impassive at you.

The sheriff leaves the room enraged, and everyone else follows, not before giving you an apologetic look. Hotchner is the last one to stay. You see the slightest doubt on his eyes and the subtle twist his lips make. You know he’s thinking about letting you go, but he then lowers his stare and gets out of the room, just like everybody else.

You sigh, drained out of energy after all the interrogations. This can’t be happening to you.

You knew since the moment you met John, that just his pure acquaintance could ruin your life. He had many enemies, and even more groupies who belonged to social circles that if you hadn’t met him, you would have never even imagined they existed, but what you had never imagined either, was that after all the heartbreak, loss and pain of what you thought in that moment to be the love of your life, you’d be reliving all those feelings, cause of some stupid cop negligence.

You lay your head slowly on the table, feeling the coldness of the metal surface on your cheek, and close your eyes for just a couple of minutes. You can’t sleep, not until this nightmare is all over, but at least, you get to have a few moments of peace and quiet before some other agent enters the room and begins yet another interrogation, demanding new information. Information you don’t have.

Outside the gray room, where you can’t hear nor see anything, the BAU team argues with the sheriff about your freedom.

“We’ve gotten out of her everything we’re going to get, I’m telling you, she didn’t do it” Morgan tries to reason with him.

“An unsub who planned a homicide this calculated would be equally calculated both on his answers and his behavior, this girl was in shock when we started showing her the case photos and couldn’t get a single cohesive phrase out. You can’t pin this murder on her” Emily backs up Morgan.

The sheriff looks at both of them, puffs a sigh and places his hands on his hips before discussing.

“Look, I get it, you profilers or whatever think you’re better than all of us, but this is still my county, and while I can have her in custody, I will. Who knows? She might even give up a confession or at least some new information. Goodnight gentlemen. And lady” he starts to walk to the exit without giving any of them any chance to convince him “I suggest you too get some rest. It’s been a long day and there’s one even longer ahead of us. Lock up when you get out”.

With that last statement, the sheriff ends the discussion and exits the precinct. Morgan and Prentiss move their heads in disagreement, proceeding to look back at Hotch, who is frowning at the door the sheriff just left through.

“What now?” both the BAU members look at the unit chief.

“Sheriff is right in one thing: you should get some rest. I’ll stay here with (Y/N), keep her company and see if there’s something we missed” he declares “Call Reid, Rossi and JJ, head back to the hotel, I’ll catch up with you in a few hours”.

“Hotch she’s not our unsub” Morgan defends you again “I mean we could, let her go right?”

“I’m afraid not. If we step ahead of the local officers, we might make things worse by getting ourselves kicked out of the investigation. It’ll be of more use the sooner we find something, anything, that might help (Y/N) clear her name and get her out of here” Hotch answers, he’s looking at Morgan but directs his orders to both of them, he knows his team too well to not know for a fact that Emily is the one who’s more inclined to let you go. They both nod silently.

“All right” Emily surrenders, not just because she’s too tired to continue arguing, but because she also knows that perhaps getting back to the hotel and going over some of the facts and scenes with Reid or JJ, might be more useful “Do you want me to stay with you? I mean the precinct is completely empty. You’ll be here all by yourself”.

“It’s okay. You and Morgan. Hotel. Rest. We’ll gather first thing in the morning and go through everything we have so far” he assures and doesn’t wait for a reply, beginning to walk back to the interrogation room, hearing the exit door of the precinct close behind him and the key turning.

When he enters again, he finds you on the same position you were trying to rest, your cheek against the now warm table, your hair falling on it and covering parts of your face.

“I’m not asleep” you mutter softly “I just needed to clear my head, breath and relax for a bit”.

Hotch lets out an almost imperceptible sigh, but everything is so quiet, that you get to hear it.

“(Y/N) I know you didn’t do it” he pronounces just as softly as you.

“Really?” you frown and shift your position, sitting back on the chair, looking at him “Then… can I go?”

He presses his lips into a straight line, and lets out a firm, but still tender “no”. A single tear escapes your right eye and you wipe it off quickly, not quite giving in to the emotions just yet. Hotch notices and comes to stand right next to you, laying on the edge of the table.

“If I’d let you go, the local authorities would not let us continue the investigation and they’d pin that murder on you. Trust me, the best we can do right now is wait a few hours until everyone has cooled down and come back with fresh eyes” he guarantees you, his features relaxing as he tells you this “Everything’s gonna be fine”.

“Everything’s gonna be fine” you repeat his words slowly, then look up at him. Damn it. He’s handsome. It’s no secret to anyone you have a thing for older men, but did that trait really have to emerge right now? You can’t help but to laugh out loud at the thought, it’s absurd to you that you could be thinking of that when you’re being accused of murder.

“What’s so funny?” he asks confused, and distances himself ever so slightly from you, without leaving his place on the table.

“Nothing, just…” you start, in an attempt to explain yourself and don’t end up looking crazy “God, if I had met you under any other circumstances, I’d probably be all over you right now”.

SSA Aaron Hotchner does not move, nor his face changes towards you, but you can see the most subtle blush on his cheeks, and his fists tightening. His lips finally crack up a light smile, finding the situation absurd as well, he quickly remembers the videocamera is off.

“You do realize you could be facing murder charges, right?” he asks playfully, kinda mocking you, keeping the volume of his voice down.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry” you apologize “It’s just so late, I’m tired, and well, you’re smoking hot” you confess with an apologetic, but also mischievous, look. Hotch finally lets out a laugh. Get a hold of yourself, Hotchner, he thinks to himself, takes a deep breath and goes back to his serious stare.

“(Y/N), I understand it’s been a long day in which you’ve been under a lot of pressure, but for me to keep up this game would be not only unprofessional, but also unethical. Your mind is probably just making up this crush for you to pass the time and distract yourself from what is happening. You’ll get over me” he explains sweetly.

“I wish I could get under you instead…” your witty retort catches him off guard, he swallows hard and starts coughing. He’s not used to women flirting with him anymore, not for a long time, let alone women almost half his age.

“I’ll see you in a few hours” he says standing up and reaching towards the door, not really uncomfortable by your approaches, but more by his increasing boner.

“No, okay I’m sorry, please stay with me” you beg him, standing up as well “I was just joking. Well, not really, but just… please keep me company, stay?”

He turns back at you not realizing how close you are, less than a couple steps behind him and he almost crashes into you, but he prevents the two of you from tripping by stabilizing himself grabbing your hips, but his hands can’t get to let go afterwards. You breath heavily, feeling the arousal and heat from the proximity suffocating you.

“Please fuck me” you half ask, half beg, admitting to yourself that what you need right now is precisely what agent Hotchner said: relieving some stress and distraction.

SSA Aaron Hotchner can’t help himself.

Ugh, fuck it, he thinks. It’s the sheriff’s fault for turning off the videocamera in an attempt to scare you and try and trick you into making a confession.

Without any further notice, he grabs your ass and the highest part of the back of your thighs to lift you. Your legs instinctively wrap around his back and your arms around his neck, not breaking eye contact as you let him carry you to the table. He places you on the table with tenderness, caressing your back as he does so. You bring your dominant hand to grab his tie and pull him in for a long, wet, controlled kiss, running your other hand along his arm and chest, ending the trace on his cheek, allowing your thumb to move back and forth on his skin.

Quite to be honest, Aaron doesn’t know how well he’ll be able to perform. It’s been a while since he’s last had sex, and his mind is always either on his job, or his family. He’ll probably won’t last more than a few minutes. But he can try and make it up to you.

He begins to deviate his trace of wet kisses from your mouth, to you jaw, your neck, and slowly your chest, discovering little by little the skin under your clothes, while his hands drop by the side of your waist, hips and legs, exploring you under the midi skirt you’re wearing. His right hand finds the slit between your legs, covered by your panties, and starts caressing it through the fabric. He listens to you moan and brings his other hand to cover your mouth with endearment, letting you know you’ve got to keep quiet.

He moves your panties to the side and traces one finger along your slick, inserting it inside of you. You have to suppress an even louder moan. He moves that one finger up and down, hitting your G spot, inserting another finger when you’re ready.

“Please” you beg once again. Aaron chuckles, grabbing you and getting you closer to the edge of the table, proceeding to get down on his knees and sucking all your juices without any type of heads up. You can’t but let out a loud moan. He looks up at you, and even though his eyes demand silence, you can tell there’s the slightest grin on his lips, before he continues sucking and licking your folds and clit. Your back drops to the table, unable to keep yourself steady so you can watch him. You’re trembling with desire and lust “Agent Hotchner, please” you beg once again. Hearing you call him ‘agent Hotchner’ does something to him. He stands up, wiping a little bit of your juices off his mouth and kissing you afterwards, his hands resting on either side of you on the table, one of them coming to grab each of your nipples one at a time.

“How much do you want this?” he asks softly.

“I need you” you answer “Please, fill me”.

His eyes meet yours and he nods slowly. His mouth comes to encircle one of your nipples as he pulls down your underwear and hides it in his suit pocket, and undoes his belt and trousers, without taking any clothes off. You come up from your laying position to support yourself with your elbows on the table, not wanting to miss how the special agent from the FBI takes his cock out to give it to you.

When he’s got it out and ready for you, he pumps it up and down a couple of times before lifting entirely your skirt and positioning himself in your entrance. He enters slowly, letting you take him all in, allowing you to accustom to his size, and for the love of him, he feels like he could explode any second. He breathes deeply and clears his mind, his ego not letting him end up looking like a teenager having his first time.

“Let me ride you” you ask after a few slow thrusts, needing more of him. He looks at you and nods.

God, what is he doing? At least you’re innocent. Are you? Right? You’ve gotta be. The profile doesn’t fit. But they’ve been wrong before haven’t they?

You exchange positions so he’s laying on the table, you get on top of him and guide his cock back into you again. You part your lips in a moan when you come down on him and begin moving your hips, his hands moving alongside them. You lower yourself without stopping so you can kiss him, rubbing your whole torso on his, your sweat making your skin slip on his skin. He grabs your breasts so he can bring them to his mouth, nibbling them.

Meanwhile, you’re wondering if this might just be another trick for you to let your guard down. But what could you say that might incriminate you? You know you’re innocent. What if he’s not even a real agent?

You’re so close that you can’t give yourself permission to sink into those thoughts, instead, you start riding Hotch faster and stronger, your clit rubbing against his pelvis as you do so.

“Aaron, Aaron…” you moan lowly. You don’t know if it’s okay that you’re on a first name basis already, but it just seems weird to you if you call him ‘Hotch’ like his colleagues.

It seems like he’s perfectly fine with it, as he digs his fingertips on your hips, encouraging you to keep going, feeling how your walls tense around him as your orgasm hits you.

You moan uncontrollably as you come, not being able to keep those in, digging your nails in Aaron’s shoulder suit sleeves. Afterwards, you lay slowly on his chest, until you start feeling like he’s pulling himself out.

“Wait” you gather and pull yourself up again, with him still inside of you “What are you doing? Don’t you wanna finish too?”

He looks at you in disbelief.

“Well I thought you may wanna rest or…” he begins explaining. You laugh and look fondly at him, lowering yourself again to murmur “don’t stop” in his ear.

Of course, he remembers. Twenties.

That’s everything he needs to start thrusting into you with everything he’s got left.

“(Y/N) I’m not-“ he tries to phrase “I’m not going to last longer, I’m- is it okay if I…?”

“Come inside me” you order “It’s okay, don’t worry, I’m on contraceptives”.

He decides to believe you, for his sake, and fastens his pace until it becomes sloppy, spilling inside of you just like you asked for, his cum filling you and showing between your folds as he brings himself out.

“Oh my god” he breathes out as he brings you down to his chest, securing his arms around your back, bringing you even closer to him “I’ll put you in handcuffs myself if it turns out you’re not innocent”.

You chuckle, tracing circles on his chest through the fabric of his shirt.

“I am. But still, you can put me in handcuffs any time you want”. He laughs alongside you, still feeling a bit like a teenager. A teenager who just did something very very wrong and that nobody should find out about. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for a few seconds before his cellphone starts ringing, he answers almost immediately.

“Hotchner” he says calmly “Yes I’m still here. No, everything’s fine, she’s… behaved. Prints don’t match? Well of course they don’t, was García able to tell whose are they then? Right. Well, tell her to keep digging. I’ll see you in a bit”.

After he hangs up he turns to you with a playful look.

“You never touched the gun that was in your purse, did you?” you shake your head.

“Guns and, weapons of any type really, give me the creeps, I just left it there thinking it was someone’s idea of pranking me or something”.

“Well that may have just made your case. You’re free to go. Whoever was trying to frame you did a lousy job not guessing you weren’t going to grab the gun” he tells you arching his brows at you. You stare perplexed at him.

“You’re serious? Oh my god Aaron! Thank you!” you exclaim kissing him.

“Yes, and we should get dressed and get out of here before anything else happens” he affirms gently, helping you stand up so you both can fix your clothes.

“Well, agent Hotchner, it’s been a pleasure. Truly” you tell him when the two of you are walking out of the interrogation room towards the exit.

“Pleasure is all mine, (Y/N)” he says, winking an eye at you “I’d like you to know… I don’t usually do this. I don’t…”

“Aaron” you interrupt sweetly, one of your hands coming to grab his forearm to stop him “I know. I can tell. It’s okay. I know that if I hadn’t initiated it or followed up you would have never even considered it, I get it… but now, can we please do it again?”

He chuckles.

“You know where we’re staying and the number of my hotel room, sweetheart. And I also recall reading on some case file that you’re from Virginia and were just visiting your home town?”

You smile widely at him as you nod, pulling him in from his tie for one last kiss. Or who knows, it might not even be the last one.

MASTERLIST

[poiibbtt]

A Little Bit Like Forever

Pairing: Dokyeom x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Friends-to-Lovers, High School Romance

Word Count: ~4,500

Synopsis: Middle school chaos, high school awkwardness, and a love hidden beneath playful teasing. From sneaky stolen bags to whispered confessions in a dim classroom, you and Dokyeom were always a little bit of everything—until prom night, where a few photobooth pictures capture the moment when "just friends" becomes something a little bit like forever.

A/N: Hi, I'm new here! I really hope you enjoy this fluffy Dokyeom (aka Dikeyyy) fanfic. My English might not be the best, but I put all my heart into this story! Let me know what you think, and thank you for reading! 🖤

Middle school was weird, but somehow, it was fun. Sitting in the middle of two boys, Dino on the left and Dokyeom on the right, felt like a tiny pocket of chaos that made you forget how awkward everything else was. You weren't close with anyone else in that class, but with Dino and Dokyeom, it felt like… a compromise. You let them doodle on your hands—swirls, random lines, some silly drawings—because, well, what else was there to do?

“Stop moving,” Dokyeom said one day, drawing some weird stick figure on your wrist. You laughed.

“Why? You trying to make me look cooler?” you joked, raising an eyebrow.

“Pffft,” Dino added with a smirk. “Cooler? Sure, if you want to look like a walking art project from a 5-year-old.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Wow, Dino, so supportive. Love that for me.”

But as fun as it was, things changed. Dino’s girlfriend, Mindy, didn’t exactly love your dynamic. She got jealous—angrily-so. Once she threw a fit so loud, half the school knew about it, and suddenly, everything felt off. When the seating arrangement changed, you were left out. Dino and Dokyeom hung out with the boys, and you… well, you made new friends, but group projects felt lonelier. Everyone paired up with their besties, and the boys? They didn’t choose you anymore. It stung more than you’d like to admit. You wondered if you were the only one who thought those days sitting together were special.

High school started, and Dino moved to China. It was just you and Dokyeom again, but this time, he sat behind you. You had Wonnie now, your partner-in-crime. Life seemed less lonely, at least until Dokyeom decided to continue being his usual playful self.

One day, you noticed your bag had mysteriously disappeared after class.

“Has anyone seen my bag?” you called out, frantically searching the classroom. A chorus of chuckles erupted from the back.

You glanced at Dokyeom, and there it was—his trademark smug grin.

“Okay, where’s my bag, Dokyeom?” you asked, crossing your arms.

“Oh, I don’t know, Y/N,” he said, shrugging innocently. But his smile said otherwise.

The boys were still laughing, and as soon as you found your bag tucked behind the locker, you stormed back toward Dokyeom. Without hesitation, you wrapped your hands around his neck, mock-choking him.

“You think this is funny?” you grumbled, tightening your playful grip.

He didn’t flinch. In fact, he just placed his hand over yours, his smile growing wider. “You really think you’re scary?”

You groaned, rolling your eyes. “Get out of here, dork.”

Then, it began: the daily texts from Dokyeom. At first, it was harmless. “Do we have any homework?” or “What was the page number for that assignment?” Simple stuff. You replied because you figured he was just lazy.

Until one day, during a quiz, his teammate Mingyu—a giant compared to the rest of the team—walked by your class. As the room fell into a sudden silence, he called out, “DOKYEOM!” and then, without skipping a beat, added, “Y/N! He likes you!”

Twice. He repeated it twice, just to make sure the message landed.

Your class? Dead silent. The teacher? Silent. Everyone? Absolutely, painfully silent. You were pretty sure time stopped. As your heart raced, you pretended like you hadn’t heard a thing. You passed the quiz sheets to the back like nothing happened, handing them to Dokyeom who sat there, not breathing, waiting for your reaction.

You didn’t give him one. Instead, you turned and asked, “Got the cells labeled yet?”

The entire room seemed to exhale at once, and time started moving again.

Later, you whispered to yourself, “I’m going to kill Mingyu when I see him.”

After that, things shifted. Dokyeom started texting you every day—not just about homework, but everything. From stories about Seungkwan hogging the bathroom to watch streamers, to Minghao pulling off ridiculous thirst traps for TikTok.

“And guess what Seungkwan did today?” Dokyeom messaged you one night.

You rolled your eyes but smiled at your phone. “What now?”

“He almost flooded the place because he was too busy watching Mobile Legends. And now everyone has to take shorter showers. Mingyu’s so mad, it’s hilarious.”

“You guys live like frat boys, I swear.”

Somehow, the messages made you feel… closer. And then, Dokyeom brought up middle school.

“Remember how Dino and I used to draw on your hand?” he asked one night.

“Yeah,” you typed back. “I figured it was just to pass the time.”

“Nah, we actually liked sitting with you.”

You paused, reading that over again. So, it wasn’t just you. The memories weren’t one-sided.

But the more you started to realize that you might like him, the harder it became to talk to him. You’d freeze up, getting tongue-tied whenever he was around. Dokyeom, on the other hand, seemed to hover around you more. Every time you looked up, he was already watching you, his eyes catching yours before you could look away.

Wonnie noticed, of course. “You two are ridiculous,” she teased, nudging you one day.

“What?” you replied, cheeks reddening.

“Don’t ‘what’ me. He’s literally attached to you at the hip.”

As if on cue, Dokyeom appeared at your table during a group project, not even in your group, just… there.

You glared at him. “Don’t you have work to do with your own group?”

“I’m more interested in what you’re doing,” he said, sliding into a seat next to you.

You groaned internally, but secretly? You liked the attention.

One afternoon, during a free class when everyone else was napping, Dokyeom found you. The classroom was dim, curtains drawn, and the soft hum of air conditioning filled the air. He sat beside you, closer than usual, and playfully took your hand in his.

“Your hand’s so small,” he mused, gently tracing your fingers with his. His lashes fluttered as he glanced down, and you found yourself holding your breath.

Your heart thudded in your chest, and you couldn’t help but think how close he was. So close that you could see the faint flecks of gold in his eyes. So close that… your thoughts scattered when his thumb brushed your palm.

“Is this weird?” he asked quietly.

You shook your head, but your voice didn’t seem to work, so you just sat there, hearts beating loudly in the stillness.

Another day, you walked into school, your stomach aching slightly, probably from the nerves. You passed by Dokyeom, who was sitting on the stairs with Soonyoung and Woozi. As soon as he saw you, he stood up, ditching his friends to walk alongside you.

“Not waiting for them?” you asked, tilting your head curiously.

“Nah,” Dokyeom said, his lips curling into that sheepish smile. “Only waiting for you.”

You tried to hide your blush, especially when Irene, one of the basketball girls, spotted the two of you together. She smirked, as if she’d seen something juicy that would spread like wildfire through the school.

But in that moment, it didn’t matter. Dokyeom walked you to class, and you two chatted like the world outside didn’t exist.

Then came the teasing—especially from Dokyeom’s coach during basketball practice.

“Y/N, you’ve got Dokyeom all flustered these days,” the coach teased, his eyes glinting with amusement. Your face burned red as you tried to smile through it.

When you passed the gym one afternoon on your way home, the boys started calling out, “Dokyeom, Dokyeom!” You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t help the giddy feeling rising in your chest.

Later that night, Dokyeom messaged you, “Are you okay?”

You laughed, replying, “Mingyu needs to shut his mouth.”

As time went on, Dokyeom kept showing up—whether it was asking you to watch his games or just hanging around with you, Wonnie, and the others. One time, after begging you a million times to come watch a competition, you finally caved. Wonnie and Lisa came along for moral support (and for Lisa to cheer for her own basketball game).

The competition started, and Dokyeom—usually so confident on the court—was… off.

“Why does he look so nervous?” Lisa whispered to you.

“I have no idea,” you whispered back, watching him stumble over a pass.

When the game ended and it was time to go, you waved goodbye to him from the stands. “Good luck, Dokyeom!” you called out, and he waved back, giving you that shy smile that always made your heart skip a beat.

Lisa nudged you. “He was totally off his game because you were here.”

You grinned. “He’ll never admit it.”

Day by day, the countdown to graduation passed like a blur of final exams, senior pranks, and long talks about the future. And then, suddenly, it was prom night.

You were partnered with Dokyeom as prom dates, which everyone saw coming a mile away—even though he’d asked with that awkward, shy smile he’d never quite outgrown. The night of prom, you found yourself in a sleek black dress, feeling confident but nervous. When Dokyeom arrived to pick you up, the sight of him in a black suit was enough to make your heart skip. He looked so handsome—too handsome, honestly.

But if you thought you were nervous, Dokyeom was a whole other level. He could barely look you in the eyes when you walked out.

"You… uh… look great," he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck as his eyes darted everywhere except at you. His cheeks were flushed, and you could barely suppress a smile.

"You look pretty good yourself, Dokyeom," you teased, but that only made him turn even redder.

Prom was everything it was supposed to be—music, dancing, and laughter—but the real highlight came when you dragged Dokyeom to the photobooth set up in the corner. You’d convinced him to take photos together, even though he looked like he might faint from the sheer proximity.

“Come on, it’s just a few photos,” you said, grabbing his hand and pulling him in.

He looked at you and then quickly looked away, his voice low. "It's the dress. It's messing with my head. Stop looking at me like that."

You laughed, nudging him lightly. "Stop being so shy, it's just me."

But despite his shyness, he agreed, and you both stepped into the booth. You took the first pose, smiling hard, and when the flash went off, Dokyeom was grinning too—though you could tell he was still flustered.

For the second pose, you turned to him with a mischievous glint in your eye. Without warning, you kissed him on the cheek just as the camera snapped the picture. Dokyeom’s eyes widened, and his smile grew so big, he looked like he might burst from happiness.

By the third pose, you two were looking at each other, and the air felt a little different. More charged. Dokyeom’s gaze softened as he looked at you, and then he whispered, “You’re so pretty, you know? My heart is about to burst. Stop it.”

Before you could respond, he raised a hand and gently covered your eyes.

“What are you doing?” you asked, laughing softly under your breath.

“Just trust me,” he murmured, and you did. In the fourth pose, you felt his soft lips against yours, so quick and gentle, but enough to make your own heart race. When he pulled back, his face was bright red, and yours wasn’t far behind. You both sat there for a second, staring at each other, the weight of the moment sinking in.

Dokyeom was the first to break, covering his face with his hands. “You’re killing me, stop staring like that.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at how adorably nervous he was. “I like it when you’re all shy like this. It’s cute.”

He groaned, gently pushing you away with a smile. “Seriously, stop it. You’re making it worse.” But then his expression softened, and he took your hand again, squeezing it gently. “I love you, [Y/N].”

Your heart melted, and you couldn’t help but tease him one last time. “I love you too, Dikeyyy.”

Just as you were about to say something more, the curtain of the photobooth flew open, and the boys burst in like a whirlwind of chaos.

“Soarin’ like dolphins!” Mingyu announced dramatically. “C’mon, we want our turn!”

Dokyeom shot them a death glare, but you couldn’t stop laughing as you both stumbled out of the booth. The moment was over, but it was something you’d never forget.

[vanessalocke]

Why is official APH France an underrated character?

Today, I would like to repost a post about France that I wrote a long time ago. Please note that this post does not reflect my current views. Next, this is considered my personal blog, so if you disagree, please click back. And this post will only talk about what I (used to) felt about France in the official version, not exactly the France in my current headcanon and fanfic (even though that is the foundation for today).

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[This post is controversial and has a personal opinion. If you disagree, just skip over it. But also because this post is mainly to express my secret thoughts that I don't dare tell anyone, so it's completely hypothetical]

Okay, this is a post about why I like APH France, and why I don't see him the way most people see him.

In short, because his aura looks very bright and when he smiles he is very cute (like the photo below).

I wonder when I fell in love with him, because it's been so many years, I can't remember. I will never be able to remember exactly how I fell.

Yeah pretty sure when people first watch Hetalia everyone thinks he's the typical sweet badboy, some people even say he's ex f^ck boiz and I'm no exception. But... damn, the more I follow this guy, the more I see his stereotype being wrong.

At this point it should be noted that when I talk about APH France, I am talking about France from 2011 onwards. It must be clarified that in the early days of APH, Hima's expression was quite dark. Maybe at that time Hima drew APH to be satirical or something, so not only was the plot quite ironic at times (and a lot of times he was sarcastic wrongly) but also the characters he built were very... But c'mon, MORE THAN 10 years have passed, just 1 year is enough to change people's way of thinking, let alone 10 years. Not to mention, APH does not have a specific plot or spirit to be consistent from beginning to end, so the later APH compared to the first APH has a completely different atmosphere and attitude, otherwise I want to say that APH has almost transformed into a new shape and only takes the first period as the root to develop. APH later became much gentler, lovely and brighter.

(When I wrote these lines, I still liked APH so I still defended it. Oh, what beautiful old days)

And I'll say it straight out that I didn't like the early APH. I also didn't like the way Hima built his characters in the early stages.

Okay, back to the main point. France is a very special character in APH. Why do I say France, not Italy - the central character, Germany - the king carrying the team, or Japan - the artist’s mother country? That's because when I read the early APH comics, I had a pretty clear feeling that the artist didn't like France.

It's not that he hated him, but he didn't like him and looked down on France a bit. Not to mention that Hetalia is strongly influenced by America's point of view and men often dislike France, think that French people are sissy. Basically, back then the way this artist looked at France was no different from the way everyone make memes "the white flag is the flag of France", "France is useless", etc. It was like everyone feels that this guy is very perverted, very annoying, very colorful, like a vase and can't do anything else. But like I said above, more than 10 years is a long process. Although the entire APH series does not have a consistent plot, Himaruya had a "development" in the way he views the main character he created. Partly because this is a series that takes references from real life and is not completely fiction, it is completely understandable for Hima to change the way he builds or even the perspective of his own character.

That's why later on France had a few solo episodes, all the deep emotions were attributed to France - something that is very contradictory to the "dark humor" stories he drew about France in the beginning. I don't know if it was to "compensate" for Himaruya pushing France down too much before.

Anyway, that's about the background. Below I will list the reasons I like this character:

- As for the character's personality, as I said, France has a very bright aura. I'm not talking about literary history or French reforms in real life, but just in the main story alone, I can see that there's something very... intelligent about him. Not trivially clever, but intelligence like, knowing a lot and understanding deeply. The fact that he is sharp and intelligent is also confirmed by the strip where he holds a knife to Prussia's neck and laughs.

- Then there's the emotional aspect. From Jeanne d'Arc to Napoleon, it is completely obvious that France is a very emotional person, a bit childishly attached to those he loves. Yes, that's right, he always says "I'm the big brother of Europe" but when he's with people he loves, he's EXTREMELY childish, likes to act spoiled, likes to attract attention (For example, he was cheerfully excited when he was with Lisa or was chased by Napoleon).

- France's way of expressing emotions is very vivid. When he is angry, he will say that he is angry; When he feels sorry for himself, he bites the towel; If he likes attention, he acts like a clown;... but never once has he lost his temper to attack others just because he was hurt. I mean, from all the symptoms I've seen in France so far, I can determine that France can be arrogant, picky, and difficult to please, but I've never once felt like he lost control of himself.

- Yeah sure, when he broke into England's house, was talkative, wore a pink dress and had eyelashes, you can see that he no longer has any shame, but I like people like this. Funny, optimistic and extremely confident.

- He really likes to care and take care of others. This is based on:

1. He is very attached to his previous bosses (as mentioned above),

2, He cooks very well, people who like to cook and cook well are people who like to take care of and see joy from others,

3. On America's independence day, he not only patted America's head but also gave him the Statue of Liberty,

4, Italy often confides in France. France also works as a newscaster giving love advice to others, and he is one of the few people who not only is not afraid of Russia but even comes up to ask about the other person's health,

5. Do you remember the Christmas episode where England called and scolded France? That evening France was alone and looked down at Paris. In the episode about a soldier meeting France and wondering about the life and death of the nation, the ending is also a scene of France sitting and watching the flow of people passing by. France is not only proud of himself, he also loves being close to people and

6, I didn't include this but if you want to take an example from APH in the first few years, there is this scene: when England was so sick, France was really panicked and worried. Even without bringing a romantic perspective here, for me it is a genuine concern between human.

- He is mean, meticulous, and profiteering. Damn him. I don't understand how he can play with Spain. One person remembers that people owe him every penny, one person "Huh? Do I have debt? When did I owe it??"

- Actually... sometimes this guy's EQ is unexpectedly low, especially with things related to England. I don't know how, every time England shows a little interest in him, he always "?:D huh? What's going on? You're planning something with me, right? Let's get to the main point, why are you rambling on?". I don't know how many times Mr. Kirkland has sighed at this guy.

- He is only mean to other countries, but to ordinary people he is very gentle and loving. With women, he has distance but is not impolite.

- It looks radical but is actually extremely conservative. In fact, no matter how much his country reforms and changes, he always seems to be somewhat attached to the monarchy, always recalling his past. Not to mention that he is one of the oldest men in Europe, and he is always nostalgic for previous bosses. As an old man and a secret royalist, it can be expected that France is quite a conservative person.

- That's why the aristocratic blood is deeply ingrained in the personality. Except when he is in a joking mood, every scene of Hima drawing France always has something quite aristocratic. Not the type of strict and meticulous aristocrat like Austria, but the type of guy who wakes up and carries his messy hair out into the street but still looks beautiful.

- France has "an iron fist covered in velvet". He seems very easy-going and pleasant. There are many cases where others just need to beg him a little and he will give in. But in the cases where he said no, it meant no. When he is serious, he is very decisive and does not compromise. One time America broke down and asked for a drink, but he firmly refused (Yes, the fact that America doesn't know how to drink alcohol has been confirmed in official). When he met his idol's reincarnation, he disappeared completely after talking, leaving his idol to live her own life. When he collects debt from others, he is also very decisive LOL.

- He is very beautiful in a feminine way. Beautiful in a feminine way to the point of having to grow a beard and body hair to make people feel masculine. I bet he has endured sexual solicitation from old men.

- He has a lot of part-time jobs, from waiter to announcer to stylist. Was hired by England to be a chef at his place for a while => didn't go to work because of lack of money, but because he was multi-talented => liked to go on strike probably because he was "tired of being too good", because he is afraid that the world is not chaotic enough, because he is bored. He's not lazy, because if he was lazy he wouldn't go to work so much, and with his great body, I think he works out quite hard at the gym.

- Sometimes he's quite silly and weird. America just has a childish personality, but this guy is sometimes inexplicably euphoric. He cares too much about auxiliary things like clothes and hair accessories, but forgets about the main things. He argues with people about silly things. When he fights with people, he asks where the fabric comes from to make such beautiful clothes instead of focusing on fighting. When people asked his opinion, he always talked off topic. When people criticize him, he looks away, covers his ears, and whistles, "The weather is so beautiful today." He also raises dozens of silly birds.

In general, this man is not what he appears to be. He looks like a typical Don Juan but in reality he's mostly just an embellishment, seems mature but actually has a very childish temperament, seems to be sociable but is the type of person who can restore his own energy and doesn't need too much human attention. He doesn't seem to care about his appearance but is actually very proud. He seems heartless and shallow but is actually a thoughtful person. He likes to talk off topic, collect debts, drama queen- no, drama king. Extremely crazy and silly.

This guy's mind is so contradictory and complicated that the more I dig, the more interesting things I find.

And that's why Francis Bonnefoy is loved.

Ps: let me tell you a little about the Zodiac: Francis is a typical Pisces.

[sideeve]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ 𝐖𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐃

requested. yes / no

req. Hello! Id like to ask if you could write a fanfic about young justice ill be as specific as possible Reader is like batmans daughter and she is like Glinda from wicked and Megan is like Elphaba and first they hate eachother like the song ‘What is this feeling’ but then they become friends and the young justice team gets a mission on a high school (i dont know what it could be about tho) and the day before (theyre already friends) and she gives Megan tips and allat like in the song Popular and then the team goes to school and all that I just want a fanfic where reader is a member from Young Justice (if you wanna write an x reader please let it be Wally x reader (if you dont want an x reader its okay tho!) Just please that Robin is like a brother to reader

“[name], meet Miss Martian.” Bruce steps aside, a green-skinned girl stepping up. “hi! i’m M’Gann.” she waves, a warm smile creeping up on her face. it wasn’t new for members to be added to the Young Justice. It was just formed, after all.

“what’s your thing? what makes you valuable to the team?” you cross your arm, fully turning towards her. it wasn’t your job to make people feel welcomed to the team. your job as a hero required you to be on guard at all times.

“hello, M’gann!” she softly hits her head with the palm of her hand. “i can read minds. and i possess telekinetic abilities.” she proudly explains.

from living with Bruce almost all of your life, you were taught to be on guard with newer people in your circle. after being taught about “The Light”, anyone and everyone you know could be in cahoots with them.

without a word, you turn around, leaving the cave.

did you hate her? no. she’s given you no reason to have hatred for her. but she’s given you to reason to trust her also. ‘giver her a few days’ , you say to yourself. everyone had to prove themselves at one point.

but not you. your notoriety of being somewhat reacted to Bruce Wayne, the man behind the mask, members of the league never questioned you and robin’s skills of playing as a hero on the team.

the following days had you on edge.

first, M’gann decided to cross the line and insert herself in the minds of your team, making you all feel vulnerable.

you put your hand on your head, seething in annoyance as you hear M’gann’s voice nagging away in your head. “stop it!” you shout, having enough. your heart stopped its pounding, calming you down a bit.

“that was an invasion of privacy! you don’t go into our thoughts without permission!” you yell at her. you don’t even know where this sudden outburst came from. on the usual, you were calm and collected. like a stone, some might say.

“i’m sorry. i just-” M’gann begins to defend herself before you stop her. “forget it.” you put your foot down, walking away.

then came her interruptions.

a holoscreen rose above Robin as he fell on his back, a point being taken away from him. “are you even trying?” you laugh, standing above him. “yes..” he grumbles before swinging his leg to kick yours but his lack of enthusiasm made him predictable. you easily dodge, flipping backwards and landing in a crouch.

“so predictable.” you laugh before a gust of force pushes you down, making you lose a point. you growl before turning to see who did it.

low and behold, the martian girl was responsible.

she stands there, giggling. “i win.”

“no, you costed me my winning streak! no one told you to join in. if you want to spar, wait for your turn!” you seethe before leaving.

your harsh words left a mark on her. she rubs her arm in shame before looking at Robin. “why does your sister hate me?” M’gann thought that she could be good friends with you when she first joined the team. two girls in a team full of boys? you two should be sisters by now. bonding on the weight of feeling like you need to prove yourself as an asset to the team.

“i dunno. i say she’s overreacting. but she’s never reacting at all so this is new to me.” M’gann sighs. Robin puts his hand on her shoulder. “don’t sweat it. she didn’t like Wally when she met him. still doesn’t but she at least tolerates him.”

that gave her a little bit of hope. but maybe she should steer clear of getting in your way. every time she’s encountered you, she’s managed to get you made every time.

then came time for high school. the year every teenager was excited and terrified for. each member had mixed feelings about it. You and Robin had no worries seeing as the school already thought high of you. but M’gann was terrified. what if they didn’t like her? what if they thought she was weird?

from the corner, you could see her battling the thoughts in her mind. you felt horrible for the way you had treated her previously from her arrival to the team. maybe you could ease her a bit.

“hey, M’gann.” you approach her, your face soft for once. you could sense her weariness. “how about i help you get prepared for your first day of school?” you give her a soft smile, her returning the gesture.

you sit on the edge of her bed as she sits on the floor while you do her hair. “i’m sorry for being a jerk to you.” you break the silence. “i’m just not used to having another girl in the team. i want to express gratitude but i can’t for some reason.” you sigh. “and i envy your magic. i think it’s cool.” you smile.

“what? your skills are amazing. it i had no abilities, i’d want to be like you.” she turns to look at you.

“your school is gonna love you.” the compliment makes her smile falter. “i don’t know.” she looks down. “well you aren’t going to the school green. despite how cool it sounds.” you walk to her closet, searching for a good outfit. “oh, this screams popular.” you chuckle, pulling the hanger with clothes out, picturing her in it.

she smiles. “hell, i might just transfer schools to see you in it.” you look up at her, grinning.

maybe she wasn’t so bad after all.

i’ve never seen wicker despite the rewrite coming out not even that long ago so i tried😭

request forum.

[typingatlightspeed]

Some heavy and scout coddling medic please?

TF2 Fanfic - Weary

Medic's utterly bushed after a week of hard pushes and losses, and finally capturing a win at the cost of the last of his energy. He returns to his quarters from cleaning up completely drained, only to find his lovers waiting to dote on him.

Ao3 Link!

It's all fluff, bay-bee! Enjoy! :D

---------

"Ach, my body," Medic groused, slipping through the door to his quarters and shutting it quietly behind him, sagging. He leaned his forehead against the door, unwilling to move just yet, finding it difficult to will himself the last gasp of energy to turn and flop onto his bed.

He was exhausted beyond compare, fatigued past synonym, tired down to the marrow and barely holding himself upright. A long week of difficult pushes had seen loss after loss after loss, unable to breach RED's defenses to deliver the payload. Today, the team had rallied, hammering at the defensive line until they finally prevailed, but it had taxed Medic to his limits, calling pushes and directing his teammates as he built charges and dove out of the line of fire from every angle.

Once the adrenaline had worn off as he showered away the grime and sweat and blood, Medic had found himself growing progressively more boneless as he sluggishly schlepped his way back to the dormitory hall, and his quarters thereby. Whoops and hollers from his teammates as they partook in post-victory celebrations and afternoon rituals faded past his closed door, leaving him in the relative quiet of his own space, able to finally just stop for what felt like the first time in days.

When he finally mustered the herculean amount of energy required to merely turn on his heel to face his room, Medic's eyes snapped open in sleepy surprise. "Was?"

Heavy and Scout reclined on his bed, half-covered by his sheets, shirtless. He was sure neither man was wearing a stitch of clothing, but honestly he couldn't bring himself to get excited about it. His weariness drove away any lurid thoughts.

"'Bout time you got here," Scout teased, stretching languidly to show off his body to his oldest lover. "Bed's awful cold without ya, Doc."

"But we help make it warm for you," Heavy assured him with a warm smile, scooting onto his side and patting the space between them.

"My men," Medic hummed softly, a smile crossing his lips. "I'm too tired for any fun, I fear," he cautioned, tossing his gloves onto his desk and unbuttoning his coat.

"This is fine," Heavy dismissed with a wave. "Want to hold you, give you nice cuddle after big win. You did well, Doktor. Work hard all week. You deserve reward."

"A reward?" Medic asked, smirking a little.

Heavy merely rubbed his furry chest in reply, smiling knowingly.

Medic shed his coat and tie and set to his waistcoat and shirt, chuckling. He couldn't resist Heavy's fluff, to be sure. "You spoil me."

Scout hopped to his feet as he noticed Medic fumbling with his buttons, wobbly with exhaustion. "Here, Doc. Lemme," he offered, making quick work of the man's too-many buttons and helping him strip. Layers fell to the floor to be dealt with later, Medic laughing as Scout lifted his arms to illustrate what he wanted him to do, pulling his undershirt free once the doctor complied. "I feel like a child being undressed for bath time," he chuckled, his arms falling to his sides.

"Well you already got cleaned up, so I guess it's time to wrestle you into some footie pajamas and read you a bedtime story," Scout teased, unbuckling Medic's belt and opening his fly, shimmying his trousers and underwear down together until they bunched around his thighs. He gestured for Medic to sit, and the doctor complied, perching on the side of the bed and watching with a smile as Scout carefully pulled his boots off and set them aside.

"I don't think even Pyro has a set of footie pajamas big enough for me," Medic laughed.

"Yeah, that's true. I guess you gotta sleep naked, then." Scout grinned and tugged Medic's clothes the rest of the way off, his socks ending up in the bundle of trousers and underwear that now sat in a pile on the floor with his shirts and waistcoat.

"Do I still get a bedtime story?"

"You really want me to tell you a big long story right now?" Scout threatened knowingly, ushering Medic to lie down and drawing the covers gently up over him.

"Only if you don't mind if I fall asleep during it."

Scout smirked, climbing into bed after him. "See now that's why I ain't gonna bother. Don't want you to miss any good parts."

Heavy wrapped an arm around Medic and tugged him close, letting him bury his nose into the fluffy hair at the middle of his chest with a contented sigh. One arm limply flopped over the giant, fingers lazily petting at the hair on his back.

Behind Medic, Scout slotted in, tangling his legs with the taller man's as he hugged him close and pressed soft kisses to the nape of his neck. "Just let it all melt away," he murmured, wrapping his arm around Medic and cuddled up close. "We got the day off tomorrow, and you got a nice long night's sleep between us before that. Nothin' to do but relax an' enjoy it."

Medic hummed out a soft sound of comfort, nuzzling Heavy's chest as he felt the tension drain from his body. Heavy's massive hand cupped his hip, surrounding him in the warmth of his lovers and blanket tucked up around his shoulders. Softly, he yawned. "Mm, I love you both," he murmured drowsily, sleep already tugging at him.

"We love you too," Scout soothed, giving him a squeeze.

"Good night, Doktor," Heavy whispered, pressing a kiss to the crown of Medic's head, snickering softly as a quiet snore answered him.

"Damn, that was fast," Scout chuckled.

[imagionationstation]

I don't joke about my brain chemistry you guys IT'S CHANGED

This fanfic is inspired by THIS AU by @tmntforeverinmyheart and I don't claim this to be canon to the AU or anything but I'M THINKING and so this is what comes of such a dangerous thing.

None of them had seen Muda in five days.

He’d been taken for discipline and never came back. They knew better than to ask. Well, he knew better, and he had to keep the other two in line so they wouldn’t be taken from him too.

He fell into temptation on day three, posing the question as a query of strategy. They were down a teammate. Muda was already struggling to keep their pace. They would all be inconvenienced if they had to leave him behind. How much longer were they to go on without an integral asset?

Their Master didn’t like when he referred to him as a teammate. He was a weak link in the chain, allowed to continue because their leader pled his case as an asset to their group. A thing not worth wasting.

Master had only grinned at him. He didn't dare ask again.

His feathers were ruffled, twitching and folding over him at night. It kept him safe from the cameras. He calmed and soothed his brothers’ fits, and then waited for them to sleep so he can let the hot fear consume him, shaky hands clamped tightly over his mouth.

The routine continued without Muda.

Today, Master had interrupted training to command their leader to follow him. He’d bowed, exchanged fearful looks with his brothers as he did, and hoped that if he didn’t come back, they’d be smart.

Master led him to the labs. He said- Muda was there!

He bounded forward without thinking, shoving open the doors, desperate to see his little brother again. The smile, grown when he caught the familiar shape, dropped when he caught the lifeless eyes.

When he saw the things on his back.

He didn’t understand. Master was all grins, all confidence, all pride.

He took Muda’s wings.

“My wings are stupid.” Muda muttered. “I wish I never had wings.”

“Nuhuh.” He elbowed his side. “Your wings are cool.”

“They can’t fly. Wings are supposed to fly. Like yours!”

“Oh.” He looked at his back, and then at Muda’s. “But your wings are like mine. They’re blue. And fluffy. See?”

He flexed his wings. Muda copied him.

Slowly, shyly, he smiled. “They’re like yours?”

He flapped, hitting their wings together. “Totally!”

Master said he made Muda better. Improved him for the team, taken what was useless and given what could be used.

He wanted him to walk closer, to get a better look, to admire what he’d done for Muda.

He was scared of those ugly, metal things on his brother. But he was more scared of the person beside him who could take his too.

Muda’s eyes stayed in the floor, red and teary and shattered.

He walked right up to him. His eyes raked over the gray, perfectly unruffled and sharp like blades. They were shiny. He touched one.

Muda flinched, hard.

He withdrew his shaky hand.

“They can be his shield.” He hears himself say. “For when he can’t keep up. They’ll be an advantage.”

The words are ash on his tongue. He wants to spit them out, and then tear the meatless hunks of nothing off of Muda. He wants to scream and throw a fit. He wants to keep his own wings.

Master makes Muda thank him and then sends them away.

He takes Muda to their quarters, holding tight when he can’t find his balance. Once there, he says, “You need a bath.”

And then he takes him into the bathroom. The one room without cameras. He closes the door calmly, leaving no reason for anyone to feel suspicious and check-up on them.

He tears the mask off his face and leaves it on the ground. He turns on the shower, keeping his voice low as he goes to his brother’s side.

“Muda? Do you want to sit down?”

Muda falls to his knees, making a pained sound low in his throat.

“My wings.” Muda whispers as he cups his face. His beak presses against his hand, smooth as tears slide down. “My wings. My wings. He took my wings.”

“I know.” He says, “I know.”

“I hate them.” Muda whimpers. “I don’t want them. I don’t want an advantage. I want my wings. I want my wings.”

“I hate them too.” He brushes his cheek. “I hate them.”

“I want my wings. I want my wings. They were mine. They were like yours. I want them back. I want my wings!”

“Shshshshhh.” He soothes quickly because the shower cannot hide raised voices, “You can’t let him hear you.”

He hiccups, unallowed to dive into that anger, breaking down into small sobs. Leo opens his arms, letting him tuck himself against him, closing his wings to keep his heartbreak private from the world. Where his old wings used to fold comfortably, his new ones cut past bright blue feathers. They splotch red as he stares at them, a glaze of tears blurring the blue and gray into an swirl dotted with red.

It hurts, but it must be nothing compared to his brother’s pain.

He closes his eyes, and holds his brother close, and for the first time, when he pictures Shredder’s grin, something low in his gut burns.

[bubbashusbanddd]

-Tug of war-

You managed to survive the dinner and were kept as a pet by the youngest brother. One of your chores as "an outsider" was to bring game ideas from the foreign world to the Sawyers.

[In this sfw fanfic both Nubbins and Robert are alive, so I would imagine it being somewhere between the original tcm (1974) and the 2nd tcm (1986) after Sally got killed by grandpa and Robert got back from the war]

Word count: 709

Pairing: Bubba Sawyer × gn!reader, although the others are present too and there's not much romance happening

-

The chores were done and the family was bored. Nubbins had threatened you playfully with his knife multiple times, eventough you asked him to stop- which he probably just ignored. And after Robert started to ‚play' with you too, you had enough and decided to do an actual fun activity with the brothers. Only problem was what they'd considered fun.

You previously tried to entertain them with card and board games such as Uno, Chess and Monopoly, but the only one who seemed to really try playing the game was Bubba. The concentration and excitment on his face when playing those simple games were humorous, but you knew better than to laugh at his attempt to impress you with his intellect.

Since games that required strong brainpower seemed to not be enjoyed by the Sawyers, the idea of something more physical popped up. And the simplest game in that matter appeared to be tug of war, so you managed to find a thick rope in the dirty house and gathered everyone outside. The rules were easy to understand, at least to sane people, and you explained them thoroughly a few times until even the stupidest stone in Texas could understand them.

They started with the twins -Nubbins and Robert- on one side and you together with Bubba on the other, since Drayton called himself ‚too mature to play these silly games'. It didn't take much long until those two maniacs were pulled over the center line, leaving you and Bubba as the winners of the round. The next round had the same result and it became clear that you didn't even need to do anything- Bubba simply pulled them across the field himself. As the twins laid in the dirt you chuckled with delight, until one of them pulled you down. "Join our team! We can use every helping hand!" the other begged and you complied, wanting to find out how many people it takes to pull Bubba.

And although you and the twins pulled with all you had, Bubba surprisingly managed to pull everyone over the line again. But as he had tugged hard on the rope, you fell into face first into the mud below, much like the twins had earlier. The youngest brother immediatly rushed to your side and cooed something unintelligible, which you guessed were apologies.

"I'm fine, Bubba! No need to apologize!" you chuckled, amused by his worried attire. That statement wasn't enough for him though and he put a hand on your cheek, wiping the dirt off of it. His eyes were a bit watery and his posture slouched submissively.

"I promise you, I'm okay. Don't worry, Bu-"

The bonding situation got interrupted by Robert, who yelled at Drayton, telling him to join the war. "I already told you. I'm not doing that childish shit."

"But it'll be fun, Drayton! Come here!"

"I don't wanna fall into the mud! Unlike you animals"

Nubbins walked over to him at that insult and dragged him to the game.

"J-Just this o-once! Th-then we'll leave y-you alone!" he offered, his stutter present like always.

With a huff and an annoyed ‚fine' Drayton agreed. Bubba let your face go as he mumbled another ‚sorry' and went back to his place at the other end of the rope. Everyone got ready to pull and when you did, Bubba actually got hauled to the center. At the speed of light the twins began howling like wild animals, celebrating their success in their own way. You couldn't keep your laughter to yourself neither and watched Bubba as he came closer, squealing as well.

After the small party of excitment everyone got inside and you put away the rope, joining them inside the living room not much later. Nubbins and Robert were already on the couch, chugging down some energy drinks together, Drayton stood beside them, searching for the tv remote, and Bubba waited by the door for you. The moment he saw you enter the room, his face lit up in pure happiness and he hugged you with all his strength.

The evening got enjoyed by watching movies together and eventually going to bed, Bubba soon snoring lovingly into your ear as he laid beside you.

[fel-09]

Male! Miranda priestlyx reader

Words 1.8к

Miranda in fanfics is called -miran

At work for the devil Part 1

Part 2?

Being late was always a source of discomfort, but it became infinitely worse when your career hung in the balance. And nothing could feel more humiliating than arriving at work without having the time to dress properly, to present yourself in the polished, ideal manner expected by those who judged the outer world by what it wore.

One could reassure themselves that it wasn’t the end of the world, but this wasn’t the case when your entire job revolved around the appearance of others, when you were expected to be the very definition of refinement and grace. The situation grew even more dire when your taxi, the last thread of hope to reach the office on time, became an unwilling part of the city's stagnant traffic, merging with a sea of unmoving cars. The idle hum of the engine was maddening, each passing second a reminder of your impending failure.

You could feel your patience thinning, the weight of stress pressing in from all sides. With a frustrated tug at your hair, you finally made up your mind — there was no time left to wait.

“I’ll get out here, I’m late,” you told the driver, thrusting a few dollars into his hand as though they could pay for the disaster unfolding.

Grabbing your belongings, you scrambled out of the car, the weight of your bag pulling you down as you stumbled down the sidewalk. You barely managed to keep your footing, each step a battle against gravity as your mind buzzed with anxiety, the tension in your chest a constant reminder that this was not the first stressful moment of the day.

You practically burst through the office doors, the sound of them slamming against the wall echoing throughout the room. Taking a quick breath, you tried to smooth your hair, tucking the stray strands behind your ear. As you lifted your eyes, the room fell into a strange, unsettling silence. The hum of office work died down, replaced by stares — confused, judgmental, even disapproving.

But amidst the sea of gazes, there was one that stood out.

Miran.

He sat at his desk, an epitome of perfection. His long, slightly unruly hair, the suit that hugged his frame as if it had been custom-made for him, and the scent of his cologne that subtly yet powerfully filled the air — all of him seemed to exist in an entirely different realm. A realm where perfection was not a goal, but a prerequisite.

His cold gaze fixed on you, as though peeling you apart with the sheer sharpness of his eyes. He did not even make an attempt to hide his judgment, the disdain he felt for your appearance practically radiating off of him. His look wasn’t one of surprise — it was one of disdain. A slow, deliberate sweep of his eyes over you, as though he were inspecting an object unworthy of his time.

"You…" he started, his voice cool and detached, as if he were trying to make sense of a bizarre puzzle. “You have some nerve, don’t you, to walk in here looking like that?”

His finger pointed in your direction, tracing the line of your outfit, and you felt the sting of his words settle deep within you, like ice freezing over your chest.

“Alright,” he continued, the faintest smirk curving his lips as he adjusted his glasses with a motion that exuded both superiority and disdain, “I was about to say something, but I’ll spare you the effort of trying to speak — close your mouth and get out. I’ll talk to you later.”

Your mouth hung open for a moment, your mind reeling, but before you could gather your thoughts, Miran had already turned back to his team, the conversation shifting effortlessly to fabrics and cuts. He ignored you entirely, as though your presence was not even worthy of a moment’s pause.

There was no fight left in you. With what little dignity you could muster, you turned on your heel and exited the room. Your breath was heavy, but you refused to let your emotions take control. Out in the hallway, you collapsed onto the couch, your head hanging in defeat as you stared at your hands, lost in a whirl of frustration and self-loathing.

Time passed. An hour. Another. The weight of the silence grew heavier with each passing minute, and the feeling of being forgotten took root deep inside your chest. You couldn’t tell if it was the passage of time or the tension in the air that was making you feel like a ghost, overlooked and unseen. But then, the door creaked open, and the assistant’s face appeared, her expression curt.

“You can go in now,” she said, her voice short and devoid of any empathy.

You stood, an unsettling mix of emotions churning in your stomach, your heart racing with irritation. The waiting had been unbearable. Why had you been forced to sit there, forgotten, as if you were invisible?

Stepping into the office, you kept your posture straight, trying to mask the turmoil bubbling beneath the surface. The room was a stark contrast to the dimly lit hallway — vast and imposing, with high ceilings and towering windows that let in streams of cold, morning sunlight. Bookshelves lined the walls, brimming with volumes of knowledge and taste. The atmosphere was as immaculate as Miran himself, each object placed with meticulous care, as though it too reflected his unyielding standards.

He stood by the window, his arms crossed over his chest, gazing out at the city below. His figure was bathed in the light, a silhouette of calculated indifference. The moment you entered, you could feel the weight of his disapproval press down on you, like a force you couldn’t escape.

“Sit,” he commanded, his voice cold but sharp, as he turned just enough to look at you. His expression remained a perfect mask of detachment, his lips curled in a faint, almost imperceptible sneer.

You obeyed, your nerves crawling beneath your skin, and sat stiffly in the chair, which felt unforgiving beneath you. The discomfort was almost intentional, as though even the furniture sought to remind you of your inadequacy in this space.

“So,” he began, his eyes never leaving you as he finally allowed his gaze to move from the city skyline to your face. “You think you can work here?”

It wasn’t a question. It was an accusation. The weight of it made your chest tighten. His words were not just harsh; they were an indictment.

“You’ve shown potential, but potential means nothing without the appearance to match. Do you understand?” he asked, his voice like a scalpel slicing through the air. “You look like you just stumbled out of a train wreck.”

The sting of his words landed squarely in your chest, but you forced yourself to hold his gaze. “It’s temporary. I’ve just moved, and I don’t have proper clothes yet,” you said, your voice firm despite the tremor running through your body.

Miran’s eyes flickered with a glint of something — amusement? — but he didn’t say anything for a long moment. Instead, he just stared at you, as if measuring the depth of your defiance.

“Well,” he said at last, his voice cool again, “let’s not kid ourselves. One mistake, and you’ll be out the door just as fast as you came in.”

With a dismissive wave of his hand, he indicated that the conversation was over. You stood, nodding briefly before making your way toward the door.

“Oh, and one more thing,” he called out, just as you reached the handle. “Buy yourself something appropriate. This is a place for people who understand what it means to look the part.”

You clicked your tongue, silently cursing under your breath as you left the room, the sound of your shoes echoing in the now-empty corridor. Back at your desk, the office buzzed with activity, everyone scrambling to please him, to deliver what he wanted before he even asked for it. You weren’t immune to it, either. Soon, you found yourself fielding calls, printing documents, fetching coffee, and even polishing his shoes as per his seemingly random requests. Each task was a test of patience, each call more pointless than the last, and each hour stretched into an endless loop of irritation.

By the time you returned home, exhausted and ready to collapse into bed, your phone rang. You cursed softly under your breath, rolling your eyes.

“Damn it,” you muttered, grabbing the phone.

“Hello, Miran. How can I help you this time?”

_____

Don't ask why I wrote this, I had to do this.

[spencer-charnas-ix]

The Day in the Life of SSA Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner - A Criminal Minds Fanfic

A/N: Credits for this idea go to @criminal-minds-quotes and credits to @cassioxpeiaxmgg for telling me to write this madness because this was so much fun to write, and I just wanted to make Hotch really sassy, sarcastic and petty because it's funny lol 🤣 SSA Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner's day in the BAU was typical, except when he had to deal with his chaotic work children. Hotch walked into the bullpen, Coffee in hand. His eyes were baggy, but he still looked bright and professional in his crisp suit. 'This is going to be a long day...thank God for coffee,' he thought as he walked past his chaotic work children who were causing chaos as usual, whilst he was wishing he could have a break. Just one damn break! Was it so hard to ask for? In Hotch's case. Yes. Yes, it was. It would have to be a miracle for him to actually have a long break. Hotch walked into his office, sat in his chair, sipped his coffee and sighed deeply, waiting for the caffeine to kick into his system. Just then, he heard a knock on the door. "Come in..." Aaron said, sipping his coffee, waiting for the chaos to ensue. SSA David Rossi, Hotch's best friend and co-worker, walked in and said, "Hey Aaron, we've got that meeting with the BAU directors in a few minutes." Hotch facepalmed, "Oh, for god's sake, I hate those meetings; they're so boring, even for me! A person who likes meetings." "Look, let's just get this over with; I even bought some liquid luck." Rossi pulled a flask of whiskey from his jacket pocket, opened it, and sipped it, handing it to Hotch, who also sipped from it. "Well, here goes nothing", Hotch said, taking a deep breath, handing the flask back to Rossi as they walked off to the meeting. Hotch was sitting in his chair, bored out of his mind during the meeting. He looked off into the distance, wanting to be in his office working. "Agent Hotchner, do you have anything to add about the safety of the BAU?" Erin Strauss asked as Hotch just rolled his eyes

"Yeah, tell them to cry a damn river, and yes, I put them in bad situations, but who cares? I have to deal with my team, or as I call them, my chaotic, mentally ill work children, with Rossi's help since he's my work husband."

Apart from Rossi, who was on the verge of trying not to laugh, everyone was stunned. "But what about your team?"

"Oh please, they're way too mentally ill not to get into trouble; just last week, I had to stop Emily from setting something on fire again." "I-how did that happen?" "Derek gave her a lighter and told her to 'do crime', and then, well, she tried setting fire to the bullpen; it was chaos." "Right, I see, but it's bad; you do it all the time and it's rude-" "Oh, your feelings are hurt; oh no, do I need to call a wahhhbulance?" Hotch mocked sarcastically "Hotch, what the hell has gotten into you?" Another person in the meeting asked, raising an eyebrow in shock

Rossi kept trying not to laugh, but it was getting harder each time for him to hold in his laughter. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe I just think this meeting is so boring that I'd rather listen to Reid blabber on about something for hours," Hotch replied sarcastically. Meanwhile, Rossi couldn't take it anymore and fell on the floor laughing his head off; everyone turned to look at him in shock, except for Hotch, who was just trying not to laugh himself. "Hotch, you're being way out of line-" Erin said, annoyed as Hotch interrupted her scoffing. "Oh, I'm sorry, Karen. What are you going to do? Speak to the manager or, better yet, throw a tantrum?" Aaron said condescendingly as he rolled his eyes, checking his nails Rossi ended up laughing his head off as he rasped, "THAT'S MY WORK, WIFE!! YOU GO HOTCH" he cackled as tears of laughter ran down his face After the meeting was over, Hotch was in his office with Rossi, drinking some whiskey and laughing "I cannot believe you said all that," Rossi said, sipping his whiskey Hotch laughed. "I regret nothing from it" Rossi chuckled. "I still can't believe you called Erin a Karen" "David, you know as well as I do that she's a Karen sometimes." "More like all the time." Both Hotch and Rossi burst out laughing and continued sipping whiskey and continuing their day as the tired, work parents of the BAU

[humongousgothskeletonfarm]

chapter 6 thoughts: (spoilers ahead!)

oh. fuck.

-

he was king. now he’s a martyr.

holy shittttt

-

aftg really brings us all together, this is random but i love talking to other fan accounts about the books

-

anyway fanfics will no longer have to speculate when rikos funeral was, and if kevin attended or not (or if he had a mental breakdown about it)

also neil u have no tact babe and i love u for it

-

oh renee ur so lovely ur so insightful (neil u should listen to what she has to say)

jean and his ‘i won’t grieve him’ ❤️🫶

- ‘promise me’ jean said with a desperation that should have kill him, nathaniel didn’t hesitate, ‘i promise’ SHUT THE FUCK UP I LOVE THEM THANK U NORA THIS IS EVERYTHING I WANTED FROM THIS BOOK

THE SWAP FROM NATHANIEL TO NEIL IS JUST AS POWERFUL FROM JEANS PERSOECTIVE IN TSC AS IT WAS IN FROM NEILS IN TKM I LITERALLY CANNOT THE PARALLELS ARE KILLING ME

-

it’s 1:40 am and i’ve just made a cup of tea to keep myself awake

feeling many things about jeans perusal of the fox photo wall and taking renee’s picture

-

i know these motherfuckers aren’t accusing neil kevin and jean of abandoning that cunt and leading to his ‘suicide’

-

WE ARE THE RIGHT PEOPLE I THINK JUST NOT THE RIGHT TIME (look i am admittedly not a jean/renee shipper but good god they are so sweet in this)

A COOL EVENING BREEZE AND RAINBOWS

-

screaming as silently as i can rn

- petition for someone to put summertime sadness on the jean playlist

-

whattttt is the mystery about jeremy’s family?? what is this fabled fall banquet that tore his family in half im so intrigued i have to know more

ALSO JEREMY IS IN THERAPY AND HAS SOME SORT OF FAMILY ISSUES I KNEW IT IM SURE THATS ON A BINGO SOMEWHERE

-

jeremy dad of the trojans checking to see that they’re safe and also cody first cannon non binary character??? pls say yes

-

accidentally fell asleep in the middle of my planned all nighters whoops it’s currently 7 am

chapter 7:

“I like to indulge,” Jeremy said with a dimpled smile. ​Kevin’s words mocked him in the back of his thoughts: “Some of them you like.”

i did. notice this in chapter 2 or whatever but is this?? are we getting jerejean???? that’s what this means righ??

-

jeremy wdym ‘oh to be the pampered elite’ u have a butler??

jean defending kevin saying he’s earned the right to be arrogant be still my beating heart i love these stubborn mother fuckers

-

He was years away, watching a different beautiful boy lean in close to say, Will you teach me when he’s not watching? It could be our secret.

STOP IT RN

chapter 8!!

flicked him a sly look. “Easy on the eyes, maybe.”

AHHHHH!!!

-

also so glad that there’s 100% confirmation cat and laila are dating (shared bedroom!)

-

the description of laila and cats lounge room is so soft and cozy im so jealous i wish i was there

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barkbark von barkenstein u will never top sir fat cat mcatterson (although props to nora for always having simultaneously the worst and most creative names for pets)

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jean telling cat she’s a good player but misses every ball at her hips is literally every raven! (someone) fic ever come to life where they meet a relatively normal other team and have absolutely no tact or awareness of what others considered rude and immediately tell the other players what their weaknesses are (i’m obsessed)

-

“Yes,” he said, and if he didn’t sound sure, he at least sounded angry. “Let them all burn. I hope none of them survive.” BABY I LOVE U IM SO PROUD OF U UR SAFE NOW FUCK RIKO FUCK THE RAVENS FUCK THE MASTER

-

“Oh, he’s good. A bit rude, but I like him. I think we’re going to be good friends.”

i’d say the exact same thing

-

*jeremy giving jean the keys*

well it’s not andreil levels of drama and symbolism but love a good comparison

-

or they do not care enough about her wellbeing. It’s unforgivable either way.”

giggling a bit over jean being up in arms about boba knowing that he’d be seriously unimpressed with me if he knew how much boba i drank

-

he wants to know what it was for

AND WHAT IF THAT LINE BROKE ME NORA?? AND WHAT THEN??

The Ravens had given up everything to be the undefeated champions, only to be destroyed last month by a tiny team from South Carolina.

I CANT DO THIS ANYMORE

“Loving something is not enough,” Jean told him, right on cue. ​“When is the last time you enjoyed playing?” Jeremy asked. ​“Irrelevant,” Jean said. “I am Jean Moreau; I am perfect Court. I do not need to enjoy it to be the best backliner in the NCAA.”

that was what Jean felt safest in, Jeremy would back his decision wholeheartedly.

LITERALLY LEAVE ME ALONE

chapter 9999

also i’m so glad that we have jeremy/laila/cat friendship like in fics and stuff they were always best buddies coz they were the only trojan characters named in the books but it’s great to see they’re actually good friends in cannon

-

“I need you to listen to me for one moment,” Laila said, “and I need you to believe me when I say it. Fuck Coach Moriyama.”

AGREED AGREED AGREED FUCK THAT CUNT

-

COOKING LESSONS WITH JEAN THIS IS THE WHOLESOME CONTENT I SIGNED UP FOR

-

cat talking macronutrients and promising to help with his diet so it’s still familiar but more fun in order to begin healing jeans relationship with food is so important to me

-

nora bleaching jeremy’s hair blonde after telling us she was shocked we all headcannoned him as blonde while she thought he was brunette is so funny to me,, don’t worry fan artists u do not have to change a thing!

(frosted tips made me giggle too, jeremy u pussy)

-

“Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?”

-

chapter 10

jean learning basic household chores like sorting and washing clothes and deep cleaning the apartment and learning his way around a supermarket <3

-

LAILA CAT JEAN FRIENDSHIP IS REAL

Afternoons were filled with whatever the women were in the mood for that day, be it wandering downtown, shopping, or combing through estate sales.

Jean went where they took him because it was better than being left in the house alone,

-

COOKING IS HEALING JEAN ITS A COMFORT THING SHUT THE FUCK UP THIS IS EVERYTHUNG HES SO REAL FOR THAT

-

Ravens graduated; they didn’t leave.

fuck if that didn’t just stop my heart

-

i definitely should have been more wary of the trigger warnings. if anyone is wanting to read the book but is worried about certain parts, i’d be happy to let y’all know what sections are triggering so u can try and skip around them.

-

But Jean was not a Raven, and Wayne was dead.

FUCK YEAH BABY NOT ANYMORE U ARENT

-

the thought of that quiet space with its single bed was so repulsive he turned toward the living room instead. - this is so important to me

He could sense the others’ presence even if they weren’t around to bother him, and that was enough to take the edge off the loneliness eating at his heart.

literally end my life i’m so happy for jean, he’s healing slowly but surely

-

this was better than anything he’d ever had. It was worlds more than he deserved. He feared it as much as he wanted it;

JEAN U DO DESERVE IT I PROMISE U

-

wait wtf,, zane is reacher??? in literally every raven fic ever reacher is the most abusive character other than riko

-

OMFG BEACH SCENE??? THEYRE GONNA TAKE JEAN TO THE BEACH??? CHECK THAT OFF EVERY SINGLE BINGO CARD MADE FOR THIS BOOK

^ yeah i wrote that two seconds before then reading jeans panic attack about drowning and the trigger of riko waterboarding him and neil and now i want to cry

[fabseg-creator]

Miraculous fanfic: Chrysabug (First Time)

I've drawn new Cerisette/Chrysabug sketches. The first (at the top) illustrates the first meeting (or first confrontation) between Ladybug and Chrysalis and how should be happening. Below, there is a fanfic.

This happens in a rooftop of a building. Ladybug has been attacked by a supervillain (or precisely by a supervillainess): It's in fact the new Butterlfy Miraculous Holder. After an intense duel (with the use of the Lucky Charm and the Miraculous Ladybug for repair the minor damages on the roof), Ladybug had managed to immobilize her Butterfly girl. The latter is trapped in her opponent's yo-yo.

Ladybug (in good mood, teasing): It seems I have cought a special butterfly. Is that you, the Nooroo's new Holder ?

Chrysalis (confident): I just hoped I could catch a interesting specimen as you are, Ladybug.

Ladybug: Who are you ?

Chrysalis: Before you call your Cat*, I want say to you who I am, my Lady.

Ladybug feels confused about her adversary saying 'My Lady'. It's the Cat Noir's line.

Chrysalis: I am Monarch's former apprentice. The future Hawkmoth. But for the moment, I prefer you call me Chrysalis.

Ladybug: Sounds like you are too proud about yourself, Chrysalis.

Chrysalis giggles.

Chrysalis: When you fought against Monarch, I was present. I came to the Agreste manor for steal the Butterfly brooch to Mr Agreste. I just came to take my revenge on him for having backfired me. I've observed you in action, but none of both you had noticed my presence. I know all about you, Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

Ladybug: What ?

Chrysalis (smiling): Even about the wish processus. Gimmi the kwami of the Reality. The Gabriel's self-erasure from the reality. I could reveal that to everyone (even to Adrien) but I haven't did it. That happened two months ago. Do you know why I still keep your secret hidden ?

Ladybug (perplexed): What do you mean ?

Chrysalis: I hide your identity from the public because I respect you, my Lady.

Ladybug is intrigued.

Chrysalis: Since I know you exist as the superheroin of Paris, I hated you so much for having saboted my schemes. I've teamed up with Hawkmoth who will become Monarch for eliminating you. I hated you even in your civilian form, so I had to ruin your life. I hated you until the day of the final battle against Monarch when I has been witness of your detransformation of Bugnoire. I was confused first like you are actually confused. I've found out Marinette and Ladybug are the same person that explains why you're the only one I've never managed to make you fell in my words.

Ladybug: Wait a minute. Your words ? You would say: Your lies ?

Chrysalis: Ding ! ding ! ding ! good answer, my Lady.

Ladybug (shocked and grossed): Lila ?!

Chrysalis: Yeah and not really. Lila Rossi was nothing but a disguise. Things aren't always what they seem to be at first sight. I have used too many identities and disguises on my life even before you and Cat Noir had begun your adventures/tales on Paris. My vision of the world is just... different.

Ladybug: It's a lot of things you're telling me, 'Chrysalis'. How can I be sure you're not lying to me, this time ? A trap ?

Chrysalis: I understand your vigilance but I don't come to you as your enemy. I have a deal for you.

Ladybug: What deal ?

Chrysalis: I challenge you to discover my birth name and/or to find my residence. You can call the place my lair but I call it La Plage too. I keep your real identity secret, my Lady. Don't worry.

Ladybug: You introduce yourself to me with the only missing miraculous. You already engage a duel against me and now you propose me an 'treasure hunting' about you ?

Chrysalis: The duel was just a test but I will try to be fair on this .

Ladybug stays careful of the butterfly girl's words. She stealthly spins for watching around herself (realizing a panorama) and she turns her look on the captive.

Ladybug: I just want to be sure you haven't bring some akumatized people.

Chrysalis: I even haven't akumatized anyone yet at Paris. Have you noticed that ? I offer you this deal. But only to you.

Ladybug: Why me ?

Chrysalis begins to be flirtatous.

Chrysalis (blushing): Because you have made me curious toward you. Since you've hidden the fact Gabi and Monarch were the same person from everybody in the world, I just realised you and I are similar, familiar. Together, we need each other.

Ladybug is like slightly disturbed by Chrysalis' words.

Ladybug: Do you believe I will accept this deal ?

Chrysalis: So. Do you prefer I reveal who is really Gabriel Agreste to everybody (even in prison) ? Bring me to jail and it will be fun. Take me the miraculous but I have covered the brooch with a strong glue for prevent you to remove it to me.

The red black-spotted superheroin still expresses some doubts. Meanwhile, she is now aware of these revelations used to not be lies: her adversary knows her real identity, the same girl has been Hawkmoth's accomplice for akumatization causes, knows how to use the Absolute Power from Tikki and Plagg and the girl is used to be 'Lila Rossi'. She has even confessed Lila was a simple disguise she had weared during her time at Françoise Dupont school with many disguises. Meanwhile, Ladybug rethinks about the actual butterfly holder's case.

Why hadn't she tried to steal the Ladybug and Cat miraculouses for summon Gimmi and make the wish for herself ? Has she some other plans ? If she can use some fake identities and some fake looks, why didn't have used all her ressources ? Is it possible Nooroo can accept a girl like her as his holder ?

Ladybug realizes about this point: During the Summer vacation, 'Lila'/Chrysalis hasn't come back in her life. This peace time has been too good for her. And now, like an intuition, the superheroin begins to think her adversary is honest for real. Despite the confusing situation she's living, Ladybug has the feeling her nemesis isn't telling lies to her at all.

Chrysalis: Have you chosen your choice, my Lady ?

Ladybug: Fine. I let you leave, Chrysalis. For this time.

The superheroin removes her yo-yo, freeing Chrysalis. The latter takes her swordcane, moves away from Ladybug and jumps from the rooftop to a building.

Chrysalis: Thank you for your choice. We will see you again, Ladybug. (making an evil smile) But as a civilian, I look forward to seeing you again, Marinette Dupain-Cheng. When will happen, I will be already disguised. (becoming cheerful again) That's my clue for you. I wish you Good luck for finding out who I am really, my real name and my real backstory.

Chrysalis moves her arms for forming a heart pose at the top of her own head. It's a directed message to Ladybug. The latter is suddenly fascinated by the former. The butterfly girl flees to the other side of Paris and disappears.

Ladybug (intrigued and blushing): What a strange girl.

The End

*Cat Noir

Bonuses:

Chrysabug kiss scene.

Ladybug and Chrysalis take the hide on an alley away from the public.

[gayofthefae]

Thinking about how crazy together is so meaningful because it isn't some romantic promise. It isn't just that, without context, "mad for each other" type "we'll go crazy together hypothetically".

It isn't hypothetical. The conversation that led them to that point is "I am scared I'm genuinely losing my mind because I become so immersed in my visions of monsters that I lose reality" "I am also scared that I'm losing my mind because I see people that aren't really there" "Hey, on the upside, maybe we can room together at Pennhurst Asylum"

Like that was the conversation. It was earnestly "our real life experiences and symptoms are making us actually worry about our sanity, let's promise not to tell anybody" and then Mike, loving in the way that he does, says "but it's some comfort knowing that, like everything, we're doing this together too"

And now I'm thinking about "I have no idea what's gonna happen next, but I think it'll be better if we work together. If we're a team. Friends. Best friends" and my other post about how if you look into it's kind of a version of "I want to jump into the abyss with you, I'll be less scared". It's also logistic, of course "us fighting won't help anything" but they had also already stopped fighting. So now I'm thinking about how, really, that's just a rephrasing of "Hey, well if we're both going crazy, at least we'll go crazy together, right?"

It's easy to isolate that line and think of it how it's used in other shows, more of a "hypothetically, we'll go crazy together", but in this, he was saying "this real thing that's happening is made better by you being here with me. I think we're gonna be okay."

And I sometimes read fanfics of it where it's more cavalier, but I feel like we need to remember that "craziness" was very stigmatized, just look at how they all treat Joyce's history with mental illness is season 1 - basically equating anxiety and depression as "only a matter of time before she fell into full delusion and hallucination". I don't think that they'll necessarily repeat it because it wasn't "let's go crazy together" it was "we are going crazy together". Without the real-time stakes to it, it doesn't mean the same thing so a callback would still be romantic but used in a different context, it would be different. It didn't mean "crazy together" like "let's take this supernatural risk together" or "hey, wanna do something crazy?"/"that was crazy of us!" They're using it as the stigmatized word that it is. They're using it with the weight that it holds.

It's closer, to me, to "Maybe I'm crazy! Maybe I'm out of my mind, but God help me, I will keep these lights up until the day I die if I think there is a chance that Will is still out there." - which makes sense with all the season 1 parallels between Mike and Joyce i.e. her seeing the lights vs him hearing the radio and everyone else is like "it's ok sweetie, we know you miss him"

I think the best subtext I can translate is what I already said: a lighthearted "Hey, well, at least maybe we can bunk together at Pennhurst."

edit: a better way to put it is I feel like it's this as opposed to how people usually treat as more of a "you die, I die"(-Dustin to Steve, s3)